map-reduce/testdata/text (2).txt

Susan Lewis

when journalist Rachel Carmedi is
kidnapped and murdered by a Colombian drug cartel, her lover and partner, Tom Chambers, racked by guilt, vows to avenge her death.
Ellen Shelby and Michael McCann want to turn Rachel's story into their first Hollywood movie, Chambers agrees to track down the killers But his need for vengeance soon overrides their desires
In London, high-flyer Sandy Paull, helping to raise finance
for the film, still harbours a fierce passion for Michael, and
aims to remove Ellen from his life
Love, lust jealousy and ambition take the stage with high finance, power and mortal danger Torn loyalties, male pride and female desires turn the movie into a terrifying trap of death threats and destruction
Susan Lewis is the bestselling author of A Class Apart, Dance While You Can, Stolen Beginnings, Darkest Longings,
Obsession, Vengeance, Summer Madness, Last Resort, Wildfire and most recently Chasing Dreams. She divides
her time between her homes in Los Angeles and
London.

Also by Susan Lewis

TAKING CHANCES



A Class Apart

Dance While You Can	Susan Lewis

Stolen Beginnings

Darkest Longings

Obsession

Vengeance

Summer Madness

Last Resort

Wildfire
Chasing Dreams


ARROW
Published in the United Kingdom in 1999 by Arrow Books 3 579 10 8642
Copyright  Susan Lewis 1999
The right of Susan Lewis to be identified as the author of this work has
been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act, 1988

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade
or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without
the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than
that in which it is published and without a similar condition including
this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

First published in the United Kingdom in 1999 by William Heinemann

Arrow Books Limited
Random House UK Limited
20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London, SW1V 2SA

Random House Australia (Pty) Limited
20 Alfred Street, Milsons Point, Sydney, New South Wales 2061, Australia

Random House New Zealand Limited
18 Poland Road, Glenfield
Auckland 10, New Zealand

Random House South Africa (Pty) Limited
Endulini, 5a Jubilee Road, Parktown, 2193, South Africa
Random House UK Limited Reg. No. 954009
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Papers used by Random House UK Limited are natural, recyclable
products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The
manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations
of the country of origin.

Typeset by SX Composing DTP, Rayleigh, Essex
Printed and bound in Germany by
Elsnerdruck, Berlin

ISBN 0 7493 2500 3
My love and thanks go to Rose Garcia for her research,
translation and support during our extraordinary
adventure in Colombia. A time certainly never to be
forgotten. Nor will Timothy Ross who so generously
shared his great knowledge of Colombia, who introduced
us to some exceptionally special young people,
and who so painstakingly checked the manuscript - any
inaccuracies that remain are solely mine. Thank you to
Kelly Rodriguez, Birgitte Bonning and Martha Cardenas
de Cifuentes. A very big thank you to Francisco Santos
for sharing the experience of his own kidnap at the
hands of the drug lords; to Maria Christina Morales, for
retelling the story of her father's kidnap at the hands of
the guerillas; and to Miguel Caballero, for demonstrating
the fashion and foibles of bullet proof jackets.

Love and affection to Leidy Johana Valle, Diana Perez
and all the lovely children at the Fondacion Renancer, in
Bogota and Cartagena.

I also extend my deepest thanks to Dr Barry Heller of
St Mary's Medical Center in Long Beach for providing so
much valuable medical detail for the relevant parts of
the story. Also to Joan Leeds, not only for taking me
around Cedars Sinai, but for being such a good friend.

I am extremely grateful to Clive Fleury for helping me
with the 'takeover' and to all my family and friends who
have supplied so much character detail, humour and
support.
Prologue


Nothing had happened, yet the threat, the absolute
danger, was a presence even before the car was forced
off the road. It rushed in with the wind, a terrifying
premonition, an advance notice of something too
horrible to imagine.

The omen paused, then with sublime synchronicity it
began locking into reality. The car was rammed off the
road. The driver was swearing, struggling with the
wheel. With a jarring crash another car hit from behind,
projecting theirs into a ditch. Within seconds a swarm of
slight young men, toting mini-Uzis and M16s, were
surrounding the car. Her driver was grabbed from his
seat, thrown to the ground and shot through the head.
The window beside her was smashed, the door torn
open and someone yelled at her to get out.

Her limbs were like sand. Shock was hammering
through her body. The terror was so great she couldn't
move. But she had to, or they would kill her.

'Muevete!' one of them snapped. Move yourself!

In the glaring light of day she stepped out of the car.
The countryside around was tranquil and swathed in
mountainous beauty. Traffic sped past - no-one was
insane enough to get involved.

She was taken to the car in front and pushed into the
back seat. She was handed a pair of Porsche wraparounds.
They were painted over with nail polish. She
put them on and only then became aware of the
dampness between her legs. At some point in the last
few minutes terror had loosened her bladder.

The car started up. She could smell the grease on the
guns, the sweat on her captors' bodies. Bile rose to her
throat. She choked it back. She thought of Tom and tried
not to think of Tom. He'd sent her here, to Cartagena in
the north of the country, thinking she'd be safer. They
were due to leave in a couple of days.

She was a journalist, American. Her agenda was
complete, the tragedy of street children and child prostitution
in Bogota, Colombia, was reported. She'd named
names: the pimps, procurers, paedophiles and European
package-tour agents. Italians, Swedes, French, Spanish,
they came here to violate the tender young bodies of
children so small it was a miracle they survived. Drugs
helped, muted the pain and dulled the senses. Glue,
basuco, sometimes smack. But that wasn't why she was
being taken. No-one here cared about those kids.

Tom. How soon would he know they had taken her?

Some hostages were held for months, even years.
Most were killed. She was going to die. She would never
see Tom again. Her throat tightened with panic. Dank,
polluted air shuddered in and out of her body. Someone
spoke. She didn't understand the dialect. Were they
talking to her?

Finally the car stopped. She was dragged out. The
glasses remained on as she was led forward. Birds were
singing, a dog was barking. The scent of flowers assailed
her. A sudden image of her dead driver caused her to
shake harder than ever. She vomited. It came from her in
a bitter, fast stream.

'Hijueputa!' one of them muttered. Son of a bitch.

They stood aside and waited as she wiped a hand over
her mouth. She took off the glasses. No-one seemed to
care. Her captors wore masks - only their eyes were
visible.
She was in a dense, tropical garden. They were
approaching a house whose former glory was now
faded and scarred by neglect.

She was taken up the stairs and pushed into a
darkened room. A light was turned on, casting a dull
glow over the worn floorboards and old-fashioned bed.
Dark, chunky furniture was pushed against the walls,
the windows were boarded up, planks nailed across
them. She was drowning in fear. It was filling her up like
a shadow. Chains were put about her ankles and she
was pushed onto the bed. Her lovely face was stained
with tears, smeared with dust. The whites of her eyes
glowed in the waning light.

She was left alone.

She tried to remember the procedure now. They
would contact Tom, maybe with a phone call, more
likely with a hand-delivered note. They would tell him
which radio to get and the frequency he should tune to.
How long would that take? Hours? Days? But there was
no time. This wasn't a guerrilla operation, so there
would be no notes, no radios, no bargaining. Just
demands, instant results, or death. Tom would have to
back off now. The investigation that he had been working
on for six months and more must be terminated,
annihilated, expunged from existence. The evidence he
had gathered that would blow apart the Tolima Drug
Cartel, as well as half the Government, would be written
in her blood if it ever went to print.

Hours later the door opened. The man who came in
was shoddily handsome, tall and thin with mocking
brown eyes and a beak of a nose. A neat moustache
crooked over his narrow lips, an expensive suit masked
his meagreness of muscle. She'd seen him only once
before, but knew instantly who he was. He was the man
who used social cleansing as a means to disappear
children from the streets and subject them to the
perversions of loathsomely sick men. Her reports on his
iniquity had been so explicit, and so shocking to the
world, that he had been forced into hiding ever since.

He spoke quietly through a smile, the resonance of a
Medellin accent curling through his pleasure as he told
her what she already knew - who had ordered him to
take her, and why. This was about her now, as well as
Tom.

There were two others with him, standing in shadow.
He came forward and she knew there was nothing Tom
could do to save her from this. As each of them took their
turn she tried to put her mind in another place: an
attempt to rescue it from the driving pain, the blood and
tears, the savagery and utter degradation. Everything
they did they captured on film, which she knew they
would send to Tom. She would rather die than have
Tom see this; the world was no longer a place for her
once this was over.

For the next two days she saw no-one except a boy
who brought her food and water, and stood over her
while her body did the things it must. The pain was
intolerable. She was broken, bruised, torn and not
always conscious. With her mind and soul she talked to
Tom and felt him reaching her through the intangible,
yet vital bond they shared. She listened for God, but
never heard Him. She spoke to death and to life, and felt
both embrace her as she tried to climb from the earthly
weight of fear.

On the third day he came back with the other two.
They unchained her and forced her to kneel. Then he put
a gun to her head. She closed her eyes, so afraid she
could feel the urine running down her legs. A terrible
rushing sound drowned her ears. No-one moved. There
was only stillness: a dreadful, cruel stillness.

The hammer clicked. Her lips pulled back over her
teeth; her heart was in a stampede. Someone moved. The
gun left her. She sank forward, whimpering and
sobbing. It was over. She wasn't going to die now. Air
seeped back into her lungs. Her chest was too tight. She
choked. Gasped with relief. She wanted life. Not death.
No matter what they did to her, she wanted life. She
could survive this. Oh, thank God, thank God. She was
still alive.

Then the gun was at her head again, and this time they
killed her.
Chapter 1


'As a success she's awesome, as a woman she seems to
be a work in progress.'

Sandy Paull tossed the magazine aside and tried not to
be irritated. Work in progress! It made her sound like one
of God's little unfinished jobs. Something he might get
round to one Sunday afternoon when he was through
perfecting the misery in Africa and temporarily bored
with heaping happiness and riches on everyone but her.

Well, OK, riches she had, to a degree, but happiness
...

Snatching up the magazine she stuffed it in the bin and
rotated her chair to face the computer screen. She was, in
fact, perfectly happy and had good reason to be. At
twenty-six she was co-owner of the McCann Paull
Theatrical Agency, and Chief Executive Officer of World
Wide Entertainment. Actually, it was just the London
division of World Wide, but it was a pretty crucial part of
the international operation, and though she had a team of
trusty advisers and experienced industry consultants
backing her, she was the one in charge. And that wasn't
bad for a kid from the sticks whose sisters worked at the
bus depot, brothers were either on the dole or in the
process of getting sacked, whose father had just written
to her from clink after a six-year silence, and whose
mother worked the checkout at Safeways in between
bingo sessions and treatment for her varicose veins.
She was in touch with them as rarely as possible, but
sent money every time they asked, which was often, and
had even had her mother to stay a couple of months ago
which was a disaster. Sandy was a different person now:
she mixed with classier people, had opinions that were
listened to and a life that was about as far removed from
Fairweather Street as her mother's manners were from
good. Not that Gladys, with her powdered cheeks and
cheap shampoo and set, was deliberately offensive, she
just had to tell it as it was, and if that meant upsetting
someone then she was sorry, but that was the way she
was and she wasn't changing for no-one. In truth she
had been so way out of her depth during the visit that
Sandy, once she'd got over the shame, had ended up
feeling sorry for her mother, who was just a simple soul
really and certainly no match for all the snobs who were
turning up their noses, or laughing at her behind her
back. Gladys might not be as well-dressed, or educated,
or well-connected as any of them, or the kind of mother
who appreciated Quaglino's or the latest West End
show, but she was still a person and there was truly
nothing to admire in the way the upper classes looked
down on those who weren't so well off - much like the
little she-devil from the over-priced glossy who'd come
here to interview Sandy a couple of months ago.

Just what was it with these journalists and their
amateur character analyses? What gave them the right to
decide if a person was complete or not? Work in progress!
Anyone would think she was propped up here in her
office like a blob of marble awaiting the finishing hand
of today's answer to Michelangelo, whoever that might
be. And how would she know when she barely had time
to read all the scripts piling up in her office, or to get to
the screenings and shows her clients were in, let alone
worry about traipsing round art galleries trying to figure
out which way was up.

As she waited to connect to her e-mail she took a
mouthful of the cafe latte she'd brought in with her,
quickly checked her watch and jotted down a couple of
reminders to herself. It was just after seven in the
morning. As usual she was the first in the office, but this
early couple of hours, before everyone else arrived, were
often two of the most valuable in the day. It was a time
when she cut the jumble from her mind, pasted it to the
computer and attempted to make some sense of actors'
demands, writers' unreliabilities, directors' contracts,
the other agents' needs for decisions or backup, and the
company's ongoing performance.

Of course there were a zillion other things to deal with
as well, and there was no question that, as a boss, Sandy
Paull was as hands-on as an eager lover. And she knew
all about them. At least she used to, but there wasn't much
time for them these days. Or maybe there wasn't the
need, as just about every lover she'd had since she'd
abandoned her mother's crappy little terraced house in
the Midlands to come and make it big in London, had
been paired up with her through an escort service. That
was in the days when she'd had no other way of paying
the rent, or even eating. And the truth was she hadn't
always slept with her 'dates', unlike Nesta, her best friend
and flatmate, who was still an escort and proud of it.

In fact, Sandy wasn't particularly ashamed of this
episode in her past, especially when it was through the
escort business that she had met Maurice Trehearne,
the property tycoon, and her own personal mentor. The
magazine article hadn't mentioned him, because no-one
knew about him. It had mentioned the fact she was
unattached though, phrasing it in a way that had made
her feel like the star prize in one of life's smaller lotteries,
which was just typical of a skin and bone Sloane whose
idea of style owed everything to Laura Ashley, with
knickers and tights from Next. At least she'd managed to
get Sandy's couturiers right, Ralph Lauren for weekends
- though that could change now that Lauren had done a
deal with Tesco! - Chanel, Dior or occasionally Max
Mara for the office; Donna Karan or Dolce and Gabanna
for evenings; undies specially imported from France.

In her description of Sandy's looks the journalist had
been almost magnanimous, calling her an 'exceptionally
attractive blonde (not natural), with surprisingly long
legs for a woman of only five feet four, handspan hips
and a bust (natural) that's as arresting, and perhaps as
predatory, as her piercingly turquoise eyes'. Bitch! Still,
what could be expected from a woman who had no more
to put in a bra than a limp pair of nipples and a few stray
hairs.

Going back to Maurice, without him there was just no
way Sandy would be where she was today, for it was his
skill and fortune that had put her in a position to ruin
Michael McCann, the boss who had flirted with her,
screwed her, then cruelly fired her when she had
become an embarrassment. In fact it was only a little less
than six months ago that she'd come so close to
destroying him that the fall-out had already begun. But
then, at the very last minute, Michael had performed a
miraculous feat of recovery that had not only regained
him control of the agency, but of World Wide
Entertainment and American Talent International, one
of Hollywood's biggest agencies. Exactly how he had
managed to pull it off was still a mystery to Sandy, and
one she remained determined to uncover, even though
in her heart she was glad Michael was back at the top,
for, if she had a weak spot anywhere, it was very
definitely where he was concerned.

He was living in Los Angeles now, with Ellen Shelby,
an American who was gorgeous, talented and the newly
appointed Head of Development for World Wide
Entertainment. Michael was CEO. Ellen oozed the kind
of sophistication that Sandy would kill for, and made
love every night with the man Sandy would die for.
Hating Ellen wasn't just something Sandy did, it was
something she thrived on. But quietly, subtly so:
watching, storing and waiting for the day to dawn when
she could not only push Ellen aside, but actively crush
her. And that day was going to come, for the seeds were
already sown.
Noticing a light flashing on her console Sandy picked
up the call, while continuing to read her email.
'Sandy? Is that you?'
'Nesta?' Sandy responded in amazement. 'Where are
you? I thought you were in Hong Kong.'
'I was. I got in an hour ago and was just on my way
back to the flat when I realized I'd ...'
'... forgotten to take your keys,' Sandy finished.
'Are you going to be there for a while?' Nesta said. 'I
could get the taxi to stop by to pick up yours.'
'Bring me another latte and a Danish,' Sandy replied,
and rang off.
She wasn't normally so brusque with Nesta; in fact
she'd really missed her this past week, and was looking
forward to seeing her, it was just that damned article! Just
who the hell did that weedy little hack who made a good
case for female Viagra think she was, criticizing her for
still sharing a flat with her best friend? So what if she was
rich enough to buy a house in Belgravia, or a luxury
apartment right here on the river? If she chose to stay in
the two-bedroomed flat she and Nesta had had virtually
since they'd met, that was her business. And besides, it
wasn't just any old flat. It was in a listed building just off
Sloane Square, and was big enough to swallow up her
mother's council house a couple of times over.
She turned back to the computer, busied herself with
a few instant replies, downloaded the rest of her mail
and took a couple of videos from her briefcase ready to
hand back to her assistant. They'd been sent in by a
young director, fresh from film school, who'd been
referred to her by an existing client. As she mainly
represented directors - though she had a few actors and
a couple of writers on her list too - she had taken the
videos home the night before. She'd watched both short
films right the way through, and in her opinion nothing
in them had shown the kind of flair that would persuade
her to take this newcomer on.
She never allowed herself to become personally
involved with all the rejections she sent out, if she did
she'd never keep McCann Paull at the top. The article had accused her of being ruthless, but since when did
that budding little profiler with her queer, fuzzy hair
and red-hot freckles have to deal with a persistent
bombardment from the nation's young wannabes or sad
has-beens who believed Sandy Paull was the entertainment
industry's answer to the Second Coming? Anyway,
since the accusation had been coupled with a more
or less flattering description of the way she looked, she
was prepared to accept the remark with less indignation
than the others. In fact, she had to admit she was pretty
ruthless, but she'd also been the power behind a dozen
or more dazzling success stories these past couple of
years, not just her own. She definitely had a knack when
it came to spotting talent, not only in actors but in
writers and directors too. Even Michael, with his killer
reputation, hadn't launched as many careers as she had
in such a short space of time, nor at such a young age,
and, being Michael, he was the first to admit it.
Waiting for the computer to search out some contract
details she needed, she took a moment to turn in her
chair and look out of the window. It was a beautiful
morning, rich with sunlight, sharp with cold. The sky
was brazenly blue and the buildings across the river
looked somehow less depressed, more alive than usual.
The river itself was a wide band of sludge-coloured
liquid with a couple of old barge wrecks thrown up on
its banks, stripped bare and left to rot like plundered
chests. Sandy loved this view, night or day, rain or shine.
It was her view.
Once it had been Michael's, before he'd gone to LA.
This office had been his too, and still could be for she'd
changed nothing, not even the framed photographs on
the walls that showed a heartstoppingly handsome
Michael with any number of famous faces. Of course
Sandy was in some of them too, it would be too weird to
have only pictures of Michael on her wall, she just
wished there was one of the two of them together. The
large mahogany desk was in the exact same position
Michael had chosen, in front of the window, facing
towards the inner office of the agency where bookers,
secretaries, agents' assistants, contracts managers and
accounts clerks all had their desks. The agents in the
offices that ringed the inner well were all agents Michael
had employed. The computer terminal she used was the
one Michael had used; the books on the shelves were the
same, though added to now; even Jodi, Michael's
personal assistant, was still in the next room. Jodi was
the agency manager now, and shared her office with
Stacy, Sandy's personal assistant, one of the very few
changes that had been made to McCann Walsh when it
had become McCann Paull. Dan Walsh, Michael's
brother-in-law, and the agency's chief accountant, was
still a shareholder, but he had had no problem with
having his name removed from the title when Sandy and
Michael had merged their agencies.
There had been another change. A very major one in
fact, and that was the acquisition of the offices on the
floor below which housed the business managers,
finance experts and freelance personnel of World Wide
Entertainment. But other than that almost everything
was the way Michael had built it and left it. In fact it was
all so very reminiscent of the days he had worked there
that there were even times she was sure she caught the
scent of him drifting in the air like the passing of a ghost.
And then the memories would come flooding in. She
didn't often think back though, they weren't happy
days, nor did they get better with the convenient gloss of
time.
Abruptly she turned back to her desk. Nesta would be
here any minute. She'd deal with her then call Michael in
LA. She was certain he had something big cooking for
World Wide, and though she knew better than to push
Michael until he was ready to tell, she was on the phone
to him regularly knowing that he would include her in
his plans any time. The fact that Ellen was doubtless
already involved incensed her to the point of fury, but
she'd have no problem walking right over Ellen when
the time came, and if there was any glory being handed
out she'd take whatever steps were necessary to make
sure she was the one who shone in Michael's eyes, never
Ellen.
Getting up from her chair, she kicked the bin and its
magazine out of sight. There was no doubt the article
was right when it said that success helped to smooth the
rough edges of life: what it had failed to point out,
however, was that it did nothing to lower the heat, or
temper the madness of obsession.

'Remind me, what time do you have to be at the airport?'
Ellen said.
'Four o'clock,' Matty answered. 'Can you manage it?' 'I think so. How long are you going to be in Florida?'
'A month. Then we're in Denver for a couple of weeks.
I guess it's a silly question to ask if you'll be able to make
it out to the set?'
Ellen laughed, then quickly flung out an arm to
prevent her cousin stepping off the sidewalk into the
path of a speeding car. She was about to take the lead in
a major new mini-series, so having her in one piece
would be helpful.
They were currently power-walking through the early
morning streets of Beverly Hills, something they tried to
do at least three times a week. Lately, if they managed
one they were lucky. Still, for the time being at least, they
were both in pretty good shape. Ellen's sensuously
curvy figure was enhanced by her soft mane of chestnut
waves and haunting hazel eyes. By contrast Matty was
much slimmer, with narrow, boyish hips, small breasts,
endlessly long legs, and sleek, dark brown hair that
framed her lovely face in short feathery spikes.
'I had a call from your mother last night,' Ellen said.
'Mmm, me too,' Matty responded.
Ellen smiled. 'It's hard to imagine Aunt Julie being
nervous about anything, but she sure sounded that
way.'
'Well, it's been thirty years since she married my dad
and caused a rift between him and your dad. Who'd
have thought having a sister-in-law who was once a
showgirl in Paris could upset Uncle Frank so much?'
'Oh come on,' Ellen laughed. 'You know my dad. He's
as stubborn as he's puritanical, and he's got more pride
than a congress full of hypocrites. Still, it's good that
they're all meeting up at last. Mom is really looking
forward to it. They don't have too many visitors to the
farm these days, so it'll be good for her to have some
company.'
'Yeah. And it's about time Dad and Uncle Frank got
together again. Your mom says they were pretty close
when they were young. I guess finding out that he
couldn't live your life for you, made him realize that he
couldn't live my dad's life for him either.'
'It's all based in love,' Ellen said. 'He just wants to
protect those he cares about. And finally coming to
terms with the fact that I now live in LA and won't be
returning to Nebraska to marry a neighbour and take
over the farm, doesn't mean that he's stopped worrying.
About either of us.'
'Tell me about it,' Matty groaned. 'He's set me a dozen
passages of the bible to read while I'm away, did I tell
you that?'
Ellen laughed. Then changing the subject as they
crossed the road she said, 'Did I mention we're moving
the World Wide offices over to the ATI building on
Wilshire today? Michael's going to be working from
home while I run around like a lunatic making sure it all
happens.'
Matty cast her a look.
'Actually, he's pretty stressed out with everything
right now.' Ellen explained. 'Raising development funds
isn't proving as easy as he'd hoped. And he hasn't had a
call from Tom Chambers in over a week.'
'But Tom's in Colombia, right?'
'Uh-huh.'
'Tracking down his girlfriend's killers?'
'That's right.'
'The man's got to be insane. I mean, I think it's a great
idea for a movie, but Colombia! Drug cartels! I guess he
knows what he's doing.'
'I guess we have to hope so.'
'Does anyone know about the movie yet? I mean apart
from us.'
'Just a select few. I'm not sure how hopeful Tom was
about finding the killers, and if he doesn't . . . Well, I
guess we deal with that if it happens. For now, setting it
all in motion is taking up most of Michael's time, while I
get to play mom, mistress, movie mogul and
misunderstood producer.'
Matty laughed. 'Why misunderstood?'
'It goes with the territory.'
'I thought you were Head of Development?'
'I'm that too. Jeez, do you think we could slow up a
bit, I'm busting my buns here.'
'That's the point,' Matty reminded her, slowing her
pace.
They rounded another corner and began heading
along a beautiful, maple-lined street full of multimillion
dollar homes. The sun was already hot, and the perfume
of exquisitely flowering gardens was filling the air.
'So tell me,' Matty said, watching a stretch limousine
drive by, 'how does life feel when it gets to be perfect?'
Ellen laughed. 'Scary as hell,' she confessed.
Matty's eyebrows went up. 'So you're prepared to
admit it's perfect?' she challenged.
'It's good, but believe me, it's a long way from
perfect.'
'Well, I've got to tell you, it looks pretty much that
way from where I'm standing. Michael's crazy about
you ...'
' . . . and I'm crazy about him. But I don't think we
should ever take anything for granted.'
'You're right, we shouldn't, but you've got to agree,
you've got a lot more than most.'
Ellen shot her a look. 'Maybe I have,' she said sharply,
'but if you think I'm going to apologize for it just because
you didn't meet anyone since you and Gene split up,
forget it.'
They marched on in silence for a while, both
wondering where the tension had suddenly sprung
from, until finally they glanced at each other and started
to laugh.
'If you had any idea what a knife-edge I was on half
the time,' Ellen said. 'You know what Michael's like. He
can be pretty volatile at times - and Robbie's much the
same,' she added, referring to Michael's five-year-old
son.
'But you're all totally besotted with each other, so if
you ask me the knife-edge is of your own making. Did
you talk to Michael yet about me playing the part of
Rachel Carmedi?'
Ellen grimaced. 'I mentioned it,' she admitted.
'And he hated the idea.'
'No. He just said that when the time comes we should
be going for big star names.'
'Isn't the time already here? I mean, if you get some
development money you'll be wanting to attach a star
right away, won't you?'
'Yeah. But I think the plan is to create a much bigger
part for whoever's playing Tom Chambers than for his
girlfriend.'
'I thought the story was about her. After all, she was
the one who was kidnapped and murdered.'
'But men are bigger box office,' Ellen reminded her,
'and this is going to be World Wide's first major feature,
so Michael wants to play it as safe as he can. Which
sounds like a pretty dumb thing to say when Tom
Chambers is down there somewhere in Colombia very
likely about to get his head blown off.'
A few minutes later they jogged up to Matty's
luxurious, Spanish-style apartment complex, where
Ellen went to collect her car keys from the security guard
she'd left them with.
'OK, I'll be by around three thirty to pick you up,' she
promised, giving Matty a hug. 'It's going to be a crazy
day, so wish me luck.'
'You don't need any more,' Matty told her
grudgingly.
Ellen cast a meaningful look over her shoulder, then,
reversing her car out of its spot, she headed off towards
the Hollywood Hills.

Much later that day, after dropping Matty at the airport,
Ellen made a quick stop at the grocery store, then
deciding not to go back to the chaos in the office, she
called Michael to let him know she was on her way home.
With its Mulholland Drive address, elegant Spanish
style architecture, stunning views of the San Fernando
valley and glorious mountains beyond, the house she
and Michael shared in the Hollywood Hills was without
question one of LA's more desirable residences. And
since it could boast a spectacular swimmer's pool with
spa, Japanese gazebo, five bedrooms, four bathrooms,
gourmet kitchen, separate guest or maid's apartment
and marble floors throughout, it was currently worth
somewhere in the region of two million dollars. That
was a good half a million more than Michael had paid for it just over six months ago - a staggering increase in
value by anyone's standards, but that was the way real
estate was going right now.
After dumping the groceries in the kitchen, she turned !
up the air-conditioning and went to find Michael. He
was in the study, his head buried in the results of a
recent survey they'd commissioned.
'This is amazing,' he said, sliding a hand absently
along her thigh as she stooped to kiss him on the head.
'Do you realize that three out of five people surveyed
actually remember who Rachel Carmedi is, and one
point five out of the remaining two caught on as soon as
the Colombian kidnap and murder was mentioned?' He
looked up. 'Can you believe that? Something that
happened over three years ago, and more than three
quarters of the nation didn't even need prompting into
remembering who she was.'
Cupping his face in her hands, Ellen kissed him
lingeringly on the mouth. She knew she was biased, but
with his wonderful thick black hair, dark blue eyes and
exquisitely defined features, he really was devastatingly
attractive. And since they'd only been living together for
just over six months, the incredible passion and
excitement of their relationship had yet to shift down a
few gears, which was fine by them both.
'If you'd been here at the time you'd have seen for
yourself that it was pretty big news,' she told him,
walking over to her desk to check on her messages. 'And
what I want to know is how you get one point five of a
person?'
Michael's eyes still showed the effects of her kiss as he
laughed. 'This was well worth the money,' he said,
indicating the survey. 'Whose idea was it?'
Ellen leaned forward to switch on her computer.
'Mine,' she airily responded.
Michael eyed her sceptically, and waited until she
started to grin.
'OK, it was Rufus's,' she confessed, referring to one of
their lawyers. 'So, aren't you going to ask me how the
move's coming along?'
'How's the move coming along?'
'Not bad. We just need to know which office you
want.'
'Oh, I guess the one next to yours,' he answered,
distractedly.
'Not Ted's?'
He looked at her, and waggled his eyebrows. 'No, not
Ted's,' he said.
Laughing, Ellen clicked on to her email.
Ted Forgon was the majority shareholder of World
Wide Entertainment, which would have made him
president of the new company, had Michael not very
neatly seized the position for himself by using the exact
same tactics Forgon had so ruthlessly subjected his
many rivals to over the years.
Blackmail. It was an ugly word, and an even uglier
business. But threatening to reveal Forgon's affair with
an underage girl was the only way Michael had been
able to regain control of his London agency, and the
burgeoning new production company, World Wide,
when Sandy Paull had gone behind his back and done a
deal with Forgon that had come very close to wiping
Michael off the face of the entertainment world.
Michael was fully aware that Forgon was now biding
his time, waiting for the statute of limitations to expire
on his crime, in order to avoid prosecution. Were
Michael able to raise the capital, he'd already have taken
advantage of Forgon's weakened position to buy the
man out of World Wide completely. But since he'd
already put up just about everything he owned as
security against his colossal loans - his share of McCann
Paull, the London agency; his penthouse apartment in
Battersea, and a small, private villa in the Caribbean - he
simply didn't have the means, or the collateral, right
now to force Forgon out.
Turning to his computer he called up the latest investment
reports from World Wide's offices in New York,
London and Sydney. He had yet to inform the company's
other shareholders of his intention to sink over 80 per
cent of their resources into developing Tom Chambers's
script - that was a piece of news he felt it would be more
prudent to deliver when he had managed to gain a
similar stake from some major Hollywood investors.
When finally he looked up again Ellen was watching
him, so she saw his eyes go to the phone that was sitting
apart from the others on his desk. It was the private line
he'd had installed just over a week ago, for the sole use
of Tom Chambers. There was an individual answering
machine attached to the phone too, but lately neither the
line nor the machine was getting anywhere near as
much use as Michael would have liked.
Forcing a smile, Michael said, 'The hell-raiser should
be home any minute.'
Ellen shook her head. 'He called at lunch-time to ask if
he could go to Jeremy's right after school. He'll be back
around seven.'
Michael looked at his watch, then reached for another
of his phones as it started to ring.
'Michael McCann,' he said into the receiver. 'Oh, hi
Sandy,' he answered, glancing at his watch, then at
Ellen. 'It's got to be midnight over there, are you still at
the office?'
Not much wanting to listen while he spoke to Sandy
Paull, Ellen put in a call to Maggie, the personal assistant
she and Michael shared.
A few minutes later Michael ended his call and got up
from his desk.
'Everything OK?' Ellen asked.
He nodded, then opening the double doors that closed
them off from the rest of the house, he walked across the
huge, white-carpeted sitting-room where sumptuous
pale linen-covered sofas, glass- and marquetry- topped
coffee-tables and an eclectic assortment of pottery,
paintings and sculptures faced on to the sunny patio and
pool.
Knowing where he was heading Ellen put down the
phone and got up to follow him. By the time she joined
him at the wet bar, which was in a cosy sunken niche
between the kitchen and the den, he'd poured himself a
very large neat Scotch and was sitting on a bar stool
gazing at the mirrored shelves of bottles.
'It's been four days now,' he said as Ellen helped
herself to a drink too. 'Something's got to be wrong.'
Though Ellen had yet to meet Tom Chambers
personally, she knew that a unique kind of friendship
had developed between the two men during the time
they had been together in Rio, trying to rescue Michael's
son Robbie, and younger brother Cavan, from a ruthless
gang of kidnappers. Since that time, Michael had made
several trips to Washington where Chambers generally
based himself whenever he was in the States, and now
both men were totally committed to making the three-year-old
murder of Chambers's girlfriend, and the
failure ever to bring anyone to justice, the subject of
World Wide's first major movie.
'I shouldn't have agreed to him going back there,'
Michael said.
'It was his decision,' Ellen responded.
'Then I should have tried to stop him. But what do I do
instead? I tell him if he can get the names of those who
did it, there'll be no way they can escape justice once
Hollywood immortalizes them on film.'
'You told him that to stop him from killing them,'
Ellen reminded him firmly. 'You knew, when he told

you he was going back, that there was a chance he was
going after revenge, so you offered him another means
of achieving it. Now for God's sake stop blaming
yourself here. You did what you thought was best, and
if anything's happened to him, we'd be sure to know.'
He sighed and pressed his fingers to his eyes. 'You're
right,' he said. 'I guess it just seems crazy, us going to all
this trouble, when we don't even know if he's going to
come back in one piece.' His laugh was grim. 'Of course,
if he doesn't, it'll make the movie an even hotter
property than it already is, two American journalists
going down at the hands of a Colombian drug cartel,
and lovers at that.'
'You see, there's a bright side to everything,' Ellen
responded, and he couldn't help but laugh at the
blackness of her humour.
Turning to look at her he felt his tension starting
slowly to ebb. She was a truly beautiful woman, in every
imaginable way, and sometimes he wondered if he'd
really known what love was before he met her. He
guessed he had, for Robbie's mother, Michelle, had
damned near broken his heart when she'd left, but that
seemed such a long time ago now, and as much as he
had loved Michelle, he just couldn't remember feeling
the way he did now.
'What are you thinking?' Ellen asked.
Though his eyes started to dance he didn't answer
right away. Instead he tried to imagine what the past six
months must have been like for her, being thrown in the
deep end of a relationship, motherhood and fresh career.
If they'd been living together before he'd got custody of
Robbie the relationship and motherhood package might
have been easier for her to deal with; or if he'd got the
company going sooner she'd at least have had some time
to adjust from being an agent to a producer. As it was, it
had all happened at once, and though she was never
backward in asserting herself or her opinions, she had
never once complained about the way he had so
completely and cavalierly turned her entire life upside
down. Nor, despite the heavy load of their upcoming
commitments, was she averse to the idea of providing a
brother or sister for Robbie.
'Will you marry me?' he said.
Ellen laughed. 'Is there something about that
particular question that you like?' she teased. 'I mean
this has got to be the sixteenth time you've asked me, not
that I'm counting, you understand.'
'We keep talking about it, I just think we should do it,'
he said, lifting a hand to touch her hair. 'And what I like
about the question is the way you answer.'
She frowned, trying to recall the way she'd answered
in the past. Then her eyes started to shine. 'You don't
have to bribe me into satisfying your insatiable sexual
needs,' she told him.
'You think I don't know that,' he countered. 'You're a
pushover. I just think we should get married. Soon.'
She smiled and watched him as he began to look her
slowly up and down, his eyes travelling her body with
all the power of an intimate caress.
'Sooner still I think you should fix me another drink,'
he said, resting his gaze on her mouth in a way that
caused a delicious bite of lust to clench between her legs.
'I'll go get some ice,' she said, and sliding down off the
bar stool she sauntered into the kitchen.
Minutes later she was back, carrying a small silver
bucket of ice and wearing nothing but a pair of white
hipster jeans and a single pearl drop necklace. She fixed
him another drink, pushed it across the bar, then
wandered round to stand next to him, her back to the
bar, her elbows resting on it in order to better show him
her gloriously full breasts.
As they spoke their dialogue made them sound like
strangers - he the travelling salesman, she the obliging
bar girl. She touched herself regularly and provocatively,

smoothing her breasts, and flicking her hair. Then she
invited him to touch her too, and almost lost her breath
as his hands took the heaviness of her breasts and began
to squeeze and rotate. Then he was kissing them, sucking
on her nipples and unzipping his fly.
Finally he pulled her mouth to his and pushed his
tongue deep inside. As they kissed he opened her jeans
and eased them down over her hips, moaning softly as
her hand tightened on his penis. Then sliding off the
stool he stood in front of her and pushed himself into the
join of her legs. Her knees were held together by her
panties, and the way he was rubbing himself against her
made her ache for the feel of him inside her. He pushed
himself back and forth, faster and faster, until her breath
was ragged and she could feel the encroaching power of
orgasm pressing against every place he was touching.
Then suddenly he lifted her up on a stool, pulled off her
panties and opened her legs wide.
Even as he entered her he could feel the pulsing
pressure of her climax claiming him, pulling him in
deeper and deeper. He jerked himself into her brutally
hard and fast, giving her the full length of him, catching
her cries in his mouth as her orgasm pounded. Then he
was coming too, the seed tearing from his body in a long,
sweeping rush of exquisite release. He held her to him,
buried in her as deep as he could go. She clung to him,
her arms around his neck, her legs gripping his waist.
He searched for her mouth again and kissed her harshly,
then tenderly, sucking her lips between his, covering her
mouth with his own.
'This just gets better and better,' he said when finally
his breathing was steady.
'I know,' she whispered.
She looked into his eyes and they both started to smile.
Then from the study came the sound of a telephone
ringing.
As she pulled on her jeans Ellen could hear him
shouting in an effort to make himself heard. Obviously
the elusive Tom Chambers had finally made contact.
Returning to the kitchen for the bra and T-shirt she
had discarded, she was about to start making plans for
dinner, when she became aware of a strange uneasiness
descending over her spirits. Stopping in front of the
refrigerator she stood staring at Robbie's magnetized
works of art, trying to figure out where the feeling was
coming from. This wasn't the first time she'd had it, but
though it had been happening for a while now, she still
couldn't quite work out why.
'He's arrived in Cartagena,' Michael said, strolling
into the kitchen and looking around for something to
eat. 'Apparently someone there saw the kidnapping.
Someone who was driving by.'
'But still no word on the names of the kidnappers?'
Ellen said, taking the salad tray from the fridge.
He shook his head. 'Though there's not much doubt
the drug lord, Hernan Galeano, was behind it,' he said,
biting into an apple.
'Did he say why he hasn't been in touch for the past
few days?' she asked.
Michael shook his head. 'You know, I've been
thinking,' he said, after he'd finished chewing. 'If Virago
Knox do come up with the two million we're after for
development, we could put this house up as collateral
for the remaining two and go right ahead and get
ourselves a star. I mean, as I see it, it's the only way we're
going to raise the rest of the money this side of the
millennium, and if we're really serious about this, we're
going to have to accept that we need to take a few risks.'
'But the house?' Ellen protested.
There was the sudden crash of a door, followed by
running footsteps and 'Daddy! Ellen! Daddy!'
Michael's eyes started to twinkle. 'Sounds like the
hell-raiser's back early,' he said, as the kitchen door flew
open and Robbie burst in. 'Five minutes earlier . . . ' he
grinned, as Robbie came breathlessly towards them, his
loyal puppy, Spot, bouncing eagerly at his heels.
'Daddy, Ellen, Jeremy says I can go watch the Raiders
with him and his dad. They're outside in the car. Can I
go? Thanks, you're cool. See you later.'
'Not so fast,' Ellen cried, grabbing his arm and
swinging him back. 'Did you eat yet?'
'Not hungry.'
'Have you got any money?'
'Jeremy's dad'll pay. He's loaded.'
'Is this my son?' Michael demanded.
Robbie looked up at his father, his thick, untidy dark
hair badly in need of a wash, his bright blue eyes
glowing with impatience. 'I've got to go, Dad, this is a
real important game.'
'Really,' Michael corrected.
'Yeah, really,' Robbie responded.
Michael rolled his eyes. Then I guess I'd better go and
talk to Jeremy's dad.'
'Michael,' Ellen called after them as they headed off,
Spot tacking on behind them, clearly thinking he was
going too. 'Why don't you go with them?'
'Oh yeah!' Robbie cried, punching his fist in the air.
'Please Dad, please, please, please.'
Michael looked at Robbie, then at Ellen. Tonight
would be the first they'd had free for over a month, and
the plan had been to spend it together, at home.
'Go on,' Ellen prompted.
'Sure you don't mind?' he said.
'Why would I?' she laughed.
He came back, deposited Spot in her arms, then kissed
her lingeringly on the mouth while Robbie made like he
was throwing up in the background.
They'd only been gone a matter of minutes when
Michael's private line started to ring again. As Ellen was trying to catch Spot, who was attempting to head off
down the road after his master, the answerphone had
already picked up by the time she got to the study.
'Michael, I forgot to ask just now,' Chambers was
saying, 'did you speak to Michelle? I really think we
could be on for this, that is, if I manage to hang on to my
mortal coil. Say hi to Robbie. Be in touch in a couple of
days. Over and out.'
The line went dead and Ellen stood staring at the
machine, trying not to feel offended, and failing. OK, she
and Chambers had never met, while he and Michelle,
Robbie's mother, were practically old friends, but she
didn't much like the way he had just made her feel as
though she wasn't a part of Michael's life. After all, he
must know that she was every bit as involved in the
movie as Michael was, so at the very least he could have
had the good manners to remember she was there.
Rewinding the tape she listened to the message again
and wondered what Chambers, Michael and Michelle
might be on for. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to
include her, and though she disliked herself for such
pettiness, she was sorely tempted to erase the message
altogether. She didn't, but she knew she'd regret it
bitterly if Michael had some crazy notion of going down
there to join Chambers in Colombia, because it was
precisely the kind of thing Michelle, the highly
acclaimed British actress turned devoted humanitarian,
could be relied upon to suggest. But no, Michael
wouldn't, couldn't, leave LA right now. There was too
much going down with World Wide and besides, he just
didn't have the kind of training Chambers did in
handling such hostile and dangerous conditions as those
offered by Colombia and its infamous cartels.
Chapter 2

Getting up from the spare, rough-hewn table he was
working at, Tom Chambers took a beer from an icebox in
the corner of the shady room and went to look out the
window. The narrow street was quiet, just a couple of
kids kicking around a punctured ball, scuffing the
gutters and scattering clumps of filth-sodden trash. The
cacophony of boombox music and honking, angry traffic
from nearby streets resounded through the tightly
packed maze of the ghetto, where the walls were
smeared with graffiti, windows and doors were constantly
barred and violence stalked every sidewalk.
Being here could easily turn out to be the dumbest
thing he had ever done. Except that accolade had
already been awarded to the decision he had made three
years ago - the decision that was going to punish him for
the rest of his life.
It had brought him to where he was now - a city that
had to be one of the most exquisite he had seen, on a
mission that was infinitely more suicidal than any he
had taken. But despite all his discussions with Michael,
when Michael had tried to talk him out of coming, he'd
had no choice in the matter, for his conscience was
burning with enough guilt and remorse to launch him
into a karmic cycle of everlasting chaos. Were he a
Catholic he would probably go to confession. A few
hundred years of Hail Marys, a hair-shirt and a couple of
lifetimes of abstinence on all counts might do the trick.
But he wasn't a Catholic, nor did he have much faith in
any religion giving him any kind of peace for what he
had done. That was mainly because he believed it had to
come from within him, which was why he was here, in a
country that instilled fear in most right-thinking citizens
of the world, in a town where Rachel, the woman he'd
loved, had lost her life as a direct result of his stupidity
and arrogance.
Her kidnap, three years ago, had been a warning from
the Tolima Drug Cartel for him to back off his
investigation now. Of course the warning had told him
just how nervous they were, and they'd had good reason
to be, for by then he'd connected up with a whole bunch
of their enemies who were to be found not only in rival
cartels and regular law enforcement, but within many of
the left-wing terrorist groups that virtually controlled
the country's interior.
Exactly who the Galeanos - the family who ran the
Tolima Cartel - had paid to kill Rachel he still didn't
know. Hernan Galeano, the head of the cartel, was now
in prison, but it wasn't the kind of work a man like
Galeano carried out personally, so what Chambers
wanted to know was, who had been responsible.
Looking beyond the rooftops opposite, he allowed his
eyes to move out to the distant grey walls of the Castillo
de San Felipe. The fort was only for tourists now - and
the troubled ghosts of a bygone era. It was from atop the
sloping walls of that fort that the Spanish had finally
beaten back the English; more recently it was from one
of the casas mata inside that a security guard had come
running to announce the discovery of a woman's dead
body.
Rachel's dead body.
A horrible heat burned in his chest as he dragged his
mind through the memory of the day they had found
her. He knew already what they had done to her, they'd
sent pictures that had spared no detail, nor shame. All
that had been missing were the faces of her abductors.
Not her face though, and the terrible degradation, the
helplessness and pain, had buried itself so deep inside
him that it had become his now to endure in a way she,
mercifully, no longer did. But God, how he missed her.
How he still longed for her, and how bitterly he wished
he could turn back the clock.
When they'd met she'd been the editor of a human
rights publication based in New Orleans. Weeks later
she had unshackled herself from the frustrations of a
desk and brought herself and her journalistic skills into
the field.
Was he to blame for that? Had he talked her into
giving up the security of her position for the madness of
passion and front-line assault? Or was it more arrogance
on his part to assume that he could wield such influence
over a woman who was as headstrong and wayward as
she was sensuous and caring? From the moment they'd
met, at a Washington party, it had been clear to them
both that all roads in their lives had led to this point, and
that all roads from there would be travelled together.
He'd made love to her that night and had known such
hunger, sensation, tenderness and bewilderment that
she had laughed at his surprise and confusion, as though
understanding something he didn't. She was a mystery,
a force so vibrant, wild and untamable - such a
contradiction to the dignified and sober image of a dogooder
that even now it could make him smile.
Despite the shadows of the room, the humidity crept
silently, intrepidly in, coating his body in sweat as the
memories swathed his soul in pain. He put the beer to
his lips and drank deeply. Coming back here, raking up
the past and searing open his wounds was crazy, but
he'd always known that one day he would.
Cartagena, the city they'd never got to meet up in, nor
ever would. He'd spoken to her, less than an hour before
they'd taken her. He'd been in Cali then, she had been
here, almost a stone's throw away, in the splendid Santa
Clara hotel. She might have been safe if she'd stayed
there, not ventured out, and waited for him to come. But
after six gruelling weeks in Bogota, who could blame her
for wanting to get out into the country for a while, to
breathe a less polluted air and feast her eyes on the
soothing infinity of nature. And she wasn't so far from
town when they'd taken her, close enough for there to
have been a hundred witnesses or more, but only one
had come forward, and now he was nowhere to be
found.
He walked back to the makeshift desk where a laptop
computer, 9mm automatic, and stacks of papers
cluttered the pitted surface. He was attempting to put
together her story, trying as best he could to encapsulate
the essence of her, while indulging in a self-absorbed
purging of grief, and punishing himself with the
imagining of her final terrible hours. While his own
mission in Colombia had been to expose the Galeanos
and the government officials they controlled, Rachel's
had been to bring world attention to what was
happening to the children, those who were referred to as desechables - disposable people - or as human waste, or
filth. Though she'd gotten some good coverage, her
kidnap and death had received so much more, for it had
made headlines all over the world. But so too had the
story she had syndicated a week before her death, the
story that Chambers was staring down at now.
The first time he'd seen it was when Rachel had
shown him herself. He had just arrived at the Casa
Medina hotel in Bogota, having flown in from the
northern town of Monteria where he'd spent the previous
few days. She was waiting for him and the minute
he walked into their room she had thrust the typewritten
pages into his hand, insisting he read them right away.
It was one of the things he'd loved most about her, the
passion she'd felt for her work. This particular story
concerned an invitation that had been posted all over the
Bogota district of Los Martires announcing the
introduction of a new 'social cleansing' campaign. It
read:

FUNERALS
The industrialists, businessmen, civic
groups and community at large in the
Los Martires area
INVITE ALL
to the funerals for the delinquents who work
in this part of the capital, which will begin
as of today and continue until they are
exterminated.

As his eyes scanned the words now he could still hear
her anger and frustration as she demanded to know how
anyone could get away with this, and why no-one cared.
'What the hell's wrong with the world that a story
like this doesn't even make a front page?' she yelled,
her brown eyes glittering with rage, her lovely face
wrought with confusion. 'Don't they matter? Because
they're not American or Jewish, or French or British,
don't they count? We're as guilty as those goddamned
bastards who're sticking the posters all over the streets,
don't you see that? Merv Hemlisch should be held to
account for this, and all those other godless editors who
don't know a moral from a fucking menu. And you,
Tom Chambers, could give me some support here. God
knows I need it.'
'Hey, you've got it,' he assured her. 'And you've got
to learn to give them a chance to go to print. I heard
you've got a front page lead-in in the New York Times tomorrow. Did you know that?'
That silenced what she'd been about to say next, and
she looked at him in amazement, before her eyes started
to shine. 'Are you kidding me?' she asked suspiciously.
'Call them up. Ed's on the desk tonight. I spoke to him
in the taxi on the way over here.'
'You talked him into it,' she accused.
'No, you did! The story did. It's big news, honey. I'll
lay money right now you get above-the-fold coverage in
London, Paris, Toronto, you name it.'
She looked at him, her eyes glowing, then put on a
smile that showed him how much she wanted to believe
that, though wasn't quite sure she could. 'We had the
fire department in there tearing those posters down,' she
told him. 'Boy, someone was running scared once we got
a hold of it. Take a shot at who organized putting them
up? Yeah, you guessed it, Salvador Molina. That
slimeball should be taken out and butchered.'
She turned away, and going to stand at the window
behind her he slipped his arms around her, hugging her
to him. He knew how personally she took the tragedies
she reported, and how impotent she sometimes felt in
trying to expose the iniquity and corruption of lowlife
like Molina - and God knew there were plenty of them.
After a while he felt some of the tension sliding from
her and as she lifted her head they looked at each other's
reflection in the darkened glass. Her smooth dusky skin,
just like her passion, denoted the mix of her native
American and Creole roots. Her thick, ebony hair,
cropped short for convenience rather than style, made
her eyes seem larger and somehow more vulnerable,
despite their fire. Her cheekbones, so high and proud,
the regal flare of her nostrils, the perfect fullness of her
mouth, and exquisite sensuousness of her body, all
contrived to capture his heart in a way he no more
understood than he could deny.
Lifting a hand she touched his handsomely rugged
face, the face that had seen more tragedy than most, had
watched more suffering and fought more injustice. She
loved him beyond her own life, and knew he was as
committed to exposing the torment of this nation's weak
and poor as she was. He was the only one on whom she
could vent her fury and frustration and know he
understood. He was always there in her moments of
hopelessness and exhaustion, with strength to spare and
a wicked humour to make her laugh.
'I spoke to Francisco on the way in too.' he said. 'He
was trying to get a hold of you. He's prepared to give the
posters an inside page in El Tiempo tomorrow. It can be
your byline, your story, if you want it.'
Her dark eyes narrowed. 'Why wouldn't I want it?'
she said.
He waited.
'Oh God!' she groaned, as understanding dawned.
'You mean it might just serve to extend the invitation?'
He nodded.
She shook her head in despair. 'This country isn't
Christian, it's barbaric'
'Which is why I want you out of here by the end of the
week,' he said.
She turned to face him. 'That must mean things are
hotting up for you,' she said.
'Someone made contact from the Cali Cartel a couple
of days ago,' he told her. 'They're going to connect me
up with one of their lieutenants, a defector from the
Tolima ranks. I'm flying to Cali in the morning. I want
you to meet me in Cartagena next Thursday. If this guy's
got some real goods to unload there's a chance we might
have to ship out right away. If not, I thought we could
spend some time together, just you and me.'
Her head went to one side, the appeal of the suggestion
lighting her eyes. 'And do what?' she teased.
He moved his hands to her shirt buttons and started to
undo them. 'Pretty much this sort of thing,' he
responded.
She waited for him to finish, and as her shirt fell to the
floor she slipped her arms around his neck. 'I had a
dream about you last night,' she told him.
His eyebrows went up. 'Is that so?' he responded. 'Are
you going to tell me about it?'
Her eyes were clouding as his mouth came very close
to hers. 'It was real kinky,' she warned him.
'I'm liking the sound of it already,' he murmured. 'So
what did we do?'
Standing on tiptoe she whispered in his ear.
His eyes widened for a moment, then pulling her
more tightly against him, he said, 'I reckon it's time we
made that dream come true.'
The images of their last night together were too
painful for him to deal with now. It wasn't just the
eroticism, it was the crazy laughter, the madness and
abandonment, as well as the incredible intimacy and
tenderness. Worst of all, though, was the knowledge
that he was to blame for the fact that it would never
happen again, for it was while he was in Cali,
hammering the final few nails in Hernan Galeano's
coffin, that Galeano had ordered the hit.
The message had taken no time to get through: the gringo is to give up his investigation of certain
Colombian businessmen and politicians and get out of
the country now or the gringa will die. And that was
when Chambers had made the biggest mistake of his
life.
Looking back, in the weeks, months, years that
followed, he had never been able to make himself
understand why he hadn't just done what they'd said
and got out right away. There was no acceptable
explanation for what had made him stay to get his story
over before heading out, he could always have done it
later - after Rachel's release. But it hadn't happened that
way. Instead, Pacho, the friend whose cousin's apartment
he was using now, had worked alongside him,
translating and editing and filing the story through to El
Tiempo and El Espectador in Bogota, so by the time
Chambers had reached the airport and reconnected with
the Galeano contact, the damage was already done - and
two days later Rachel's body was discovered in the Fort
San Felipe.
So why in God's name hadn't he done as he was told,
when he of all people knew what little regard the narcotraficantes had for human life? His only answer was
one of such blinding arrogance and stupidity that he'd
never been able to admit it to another living soul. He had
assumed, because she was American, and a woman, that
they wouldn't dare to harm her. What a fool! What a
goddamned, fucking madman. Surely to God he
deserved to be in the kind of torment he'd been in ever
since, he deserved it never to end.

'Hey, man, it is time to close up the shop and come have
some fun!'
Chambers frowned. He'd been so deep in thought, so
lost in her memory, he'd barely been aware of the phone
ringing, or even of answering.
Tacho,' he said to his friend.
'Come, join me at the cafe. I order you empanadas. I
think you are hungry now.'
Chambers's stomach growled, a handsome and
pressing response to the accuracy of Pacho's guess.
'Give me an hour,' he said and clicked off the phone.
The bar was in the exclusive section of the old town,
not far, but in this heat he was in sore need of a shower.
And there was no way he was leaving this room without
first packing up his work - the reams of notes and
sketchy outline of a screenplay that he had fed into his
computer. He would leave it for safe keeping with
Lioba, the motherly old soul who lived across the hall.
The floppy disk backups he took with him wherever he
went.
Just how much danger he was in was hard to gauge.
Cartagena wasn't, by Colombian standards, a violent
city, but should what was now left of the Tolima Cartel
get wind of the fact he had re-entered the country, he'd
rate his chances of getting out again a whole lot higher if
it were as a corpse than as a passenger on an American
Airlines 757. Thanks to his investigation three years ago,
no less than twelve key members of the cartel, as well as
half a dozen elected politicians, had experienced an
ignominious end to their liberty, and in a couple of cases
to their earthly existence. Because of that they felt
Chambers owed them, and he was pretty damned sure
that Rachel's death hadn't even come close to settling the
sum.

'There is news, my friend,' Pacho said, as Chambers
joined him at a table in front of a noisy bar. A jukebox
inside throbbed with the heavy, fast rhythm of salsa, and
a half-drunk couple in bright shorts and straw
sombreros swung and gyrated around their rowdy
friends.
Chambers watched them and waited for Pacho to
continue.
'They receive a call at the Santa Clara today. Someone
is looking for you,' Pacho told him.
Chambers felt his pulses start to speed. 'Any idea who
the someone is?' he asked, picking up his beer as it was
put down on the table. With the exception of Michael
McCann he had told no-one he was coming here, and
McCann knew very well he couldn't be reached at the
Santa Clara.
'Not yet. But the fact that someone is asking means
that someone either knows or suspects you are here.'
Chambers drank deeply and trailed his eyes across the
elaborate, flower-covered balconies that fronted the
whitewashed buildings on the other side of the plaza.
Above them the red-tiled roofs baked in the afternoon
sun; the only movement across the endless blue sky was
that of an occasional bird or faraway plane. No sign of
anyone watching him from there.
His eyes moved to the dappled shade of the trees that
draped their luscious foliage over the square. Horses
clattered by, and he could see any number of thin, half
naked men slouching on the grass, staring out of their
thoughts and seeing nothing of the beauty that
surrounded them. All strangers, all potential assassins.
As he waited Pacho chuckled. His round, warm face
was pitted with pinprick scars, his chocolate-brown
eyes, as merry as the impish tilt of his moustache, were
watching Chambers closely.
'How much longer you plan to stay?' Pacho asked.
'Another week, maybe two.'
'How the work coming along?'
'It's coming. The witness, the one who came forward,
did you track him down yet?'
'Si, si. I find man who live in Manga. He knows the
man who see what happened. He is willing to talk. He
knows what his friend see. He tell us.'
Chambers arched an eyebrow. 'So he knows I'm in
town,' he pointed out.
'But I pay him to keep mouth shut,' Pacho protested.
'Maybe Hernan Galeano paid him more.'
'No, no, Galeano in prison. Thanks to you that scum is
arrested and locked away, along with all the other
hoozos from Tolima Cartel.'
'Come on, Pacho, you're not that naive. Galeano
might be behind bars, but he's still running what's left of
the show and we both know that there's a bounty on my
head that's making me more popular around here than
Simon Bolivar. Galeano's been waiting for me to come
back, and my guess is your guy from Manga has already
sent him word.'
There was no contradiction in Pacho's expression.' Evidently, having had it pointed out, he now suspected
the same.
Chambers drank more beer, then sat quietly staring
across the busy plaza at the Palacio de la Inquisicion,
with its spectacular baroque stone entrance topped by
the very regal Spanish coat of arms. The devil only knew
what manner of suffering had been endured in the
salons of torture behind those walls, but what was
concerning Chambers now was the possibility that
someone had got to Pacho with much the same methods
- that maybe someone was paying him enough, or
threatening him enough, to lead a Galeano hit man right
to Chambers's door.
His death, if it came, wouldn't be swift, of that he could
be certain. He had few friends in high places now, his
investigation had put most of them behind bars. And of
those who were left - well, three years had gone by, there
was no knowing now who owned whom, or who was
fighting on which side. Besides, no-one was ever going to
thank him for the pressure that had been brought to bear
upon the Colombian government to hand over Rachel's
killers. Of course, they never had, and that he, an
American journalist, had been responsible for so many
investigations, trials and imprisonments, was as big an
insult to the cartels as it was to the corrupt politicians and
lawless bands of insurgents. He guessed the only
incorruptible he'd ever met in this hopeless, war-torn
land was one of the police chiefs, General Garcia Gomez,
who was currently on vacation in Spain and not expected
back for at least another month.
But Chambers was here now, and, even if it cost him
his life, he was going to find out who had really killed
Rachel. Though there was no question that Hernan
Galeano had ordered the hit, the ones Chambers wanted
were the bastards who had held her prisoner, raped her,
then put a gun to her head and killed her. The score was
going to be settled, and his vengeance was going to
reach a scale that those miserable sons of bitches could
never imagine.
'I think,' Pacho said, 'that you must leave the
apartment. Maybe it no longer safe.'
Chambers looked at him and said nothing.
'I know you suspect me, my friend,' Pacho said, 'and
it is right that you do. You must suspect everyone,
Hernan Galeano want you very bad, and he pay lot of
money for someone to find you. We no speak to friend of
witness. We forget him now. There are others. I find
them and make them talk. I bring them to you, before
they have chance to get word to Galeano's people. After
you speak with them you disappear. You understand?
We find places for you, lots of them. You must stay on
the move.'
Once again Chambers's harsh grey eyes searched the
milling crowds in the plaza. Were they being watched
now? Out here in the open like this he was a sitting
target for even the most inept of assassins, and cartel sicarios were anything but that. Which meant that if they
did have eyes on him, then his suspicions were correct:
for the moment they wanted him alive - probably for
much the same reasons that he wanted them alive too.
Pacho got to his feet and dropped a few coins on the
table. 'I will come for you in the morning, just after
dawn,' he said. 'Be ready to leave.'
Chambers watched him walk off down the street, then
finishing his beer he got up from the table and began the
twenty-minute stroll back to the apartment. Though he
had the sense of being followed, and checked several
times, he spotted no-one, nor did he put too much store
by the feeling. It was one he'd had ever since arriving,
and he knew it probably had its roots in paranoia rather
than truth.
After collecting his papers and computer from Lioba,
he crossed the hall to his own apartment and locked the
door firmly behind him. He wouldn't go out again
tonight.
The following morning, as the golden orb of the sun
began to rise from the far horizon, Pacho came quietly
up the worn concrete stairs outside Chambers's
apartment. There was no-one else around, the only
sounds coming from the early stirrings of life in the
streets, and the wail of a baby somewhere else in the
block. He stopped outside the apartment door, looked
back down the hall, then raised a hand to knock. His fist
connecting with the wood pushed the door open.
Immediately Pacho stepped back, reaching for his gun
as he pressed up against the wall. He waited, listening,
hardly breathing.
He moved forward, pushed the door wider and called
Chambers's name.
His mouth was turning dry, his heart beat a thick,
loud tattoo in his brain. Bracing himself, he pulled out
his gun and stepped quickly into the room, thumbing
down the safety ready to fire.
The place was empty. He looked over at the bathroom.
The door was open, the mirror reflecting a bare, white
tiled wall. The bed had been slept in. A pan of cold coffee
rested on the stove. There was no sign of a struggle, nor
of a hasty retreat. But everything had gone, Chambers,
his computer, his papers, his clothes.
Spotting something on the floor by the bed, Pacho
went to pick it up. It was a letter, addressed to Chambers
at his Washington apartment, many pages long and
neatly folded inside a torn blue envelope. He pulled it
out and started to read. It didn't take him long to work
out who it was from, even without looking for the name
at the end. Prior to returning to Colombia, Chambers
had been in Brazil working with a British woman by the
name of Michelle Rowe. Pacho knew about her,
Chambers had told him himself. There had been no
romance between the two - their only objective had been
to expose the activities of a certain Brazilian whom
Chambers, and many others, had suspected of
employing his own death squad, as well as running a
private prison for the incarceration and torture of street
children.
Pacho knew that there was a whole lot more to the
story with Michelle Rowe, and judging by this letter
there was still more to come. But that wasn't interesting
him now. All he wanted to know was where the hell
Chambers had gone.
Hearing footsteps in the hall outside, he quickly
stuffed the letter inside his jacket and turned to face the
door. As he expected, the footsteps stopped and two
men peered cautiously into the room.
' sefue,' Pacho said sharply. He's already gone.
'Where?' the shorter of them asked.
'I don't know,' Pacho answered. 'Maybe to hell.'
Chapter 3

Michael was sitting in a lone swivel chair facing a panel
of five grey-suited businessmen. They were studying the
thick files of information he had messengered over to
them the day before, detailing his own personal and
career backgrounds and the companies he was currently
involved with.
It had been a while now since anyone had spoken, but
he could see that several of them had reached the Profit
Picture page for the movie, and, though the figures were
certainly ambitious, he didn't consider them beyond the

amount to half of what he had forecast, Virago Knox would still stand to make something in the region of
twelve million dollars, for a mere two-million-dollar
investment.
Interminable minutes ticked by, until finally Truman
Snowe, the company chairman, took in a silent verdict
from the rest of the board before returning his sharp eyes
to Michael.
Then, in true American style, with no preamble at all,
Snowe said, 'The two-million-dollar investment for
development will be transferred to the World Wide
account as soon as the relevant documents have been
drawn up.'
Until that moment Michael hadn't realized how tense
he was. After weeks of being turned down, he'd now
finally achieved the funds he needed to get the movie
underway. Relief brought an irrepressible grin to his
face as he got to his feet and reached for Snowe's hand.
'You won't regret this,' he told him. 'In fact, it's probably
one of the safest investments you've ever made.'
'The names of the killers are to remain secret until the
movie's release?' Snowe said, closing up the file.
'That's right,' Michael confirmed, not letting on that
they didn't even know the names yet.
'Can we ask who's in the frame for the part of
Chambers?' the man next to Snowe enquired.
'Richard Conway's favourite,' Michael answered.
'And the part of Rachel?' one of the others wanted to
know.
Michael threw out his hands. 'Give me a name and I'll
tell you she's there,' he answered. 'It'll be easier, though,
once we know for sure that Conway's on board. Your
backing at this stage is really going to help us secure
that.' He looked at his watch. 'Now, if you'll excuse me,
gentlemen, I'm already running late. I'll be in touch at
the beginning of next week to set up a time to come and
sign the necessary papers.'
Ten minutes later he was in the car on the way to the
bank and listening to the message on Ellen's voice mail.
'Put the champagne on ice,' he said when the recording
had finished, 'we're in business. If I don't hear from you
in the next hour, I'll put a call in to Conway's people to
set up a meeting. Oh, and by the way, we need to talk
some more about hiring an investment manager. Did
you mention it to Rufus yet? Call me when you get this
message, I guess you're still tied up with Gromer. Are
you free for dinner tonight? I'll cook., Love you.'
Hoping the good news would go some way to easing
the tension that seemed to have arisen between them
lately, he rang off, and making a left onto the freeway he
started heading down town.
Not even the fact that Chambers had failed to call
again could take the edge off his exhilaration right now.
In fact he was feeling so charged up and good about
everything that he was actually allowing himself the
fantasy of an Oscar speech, and whom he was going to
thank. If things carried on the way they were going then
the list would certainly be long, and could even include
Ted Forgon, since, to Michael's amazement, the old boy
had recently contacted Ellen from the bar at the Hillcrest
and pledged a million dollars of his personal money if
they managed to sign Richard Conway. Quite some vote
of confidence considering its source, and in truth it had
done more to buoy Michael than he was prepared to
admit.
'Maggie,' he said into the phone.
'Ah, my lord and master,' his Scottish assistant
responded. 'Where are you? And how did it go with
Virago Knox?'
'We got it,' Michael told her, and grinned as she
squealed with excitement, then relayed the news to the
rest of the office. More cheers went up and, laughing, he
waited for everyone to call out their congratulations
before speaking to Maggie again.
'It's time,' he told her, 'to e-mail the rest of the gang in
London, Sydney and New York, and let them know that
I'm proposing to allocate eighty per cent of World
Wide's capital to Tom Chambers's movie. The fact that
we're going to be calling on them to come up with a
further fifteen-plus million in the next couple of months
we'll save for a later date.'

Sandy Paull was looking down at an e-mail printout and
the set of spreadsheets that had come with it, as she left
her office, threaded a path through the usual mayhem
going on in the agency's main office, and pushed open
Zelda Frey's door.
'I knew he was aiming for something big,' she said,
looking at the extremely large and colourfully dressed
agent, who was one of Michael's closest friends and
confidantes. 'Did you get the same e-mail? Or don't tell
me, you already knew.'
'About the Tom Chambers and Rachel Carmedi
story?' Zelda said, cutting short the number she was
dialling. 'I guessed it was the direction he was heading
in. No sign of a script, I suppose?'
Sandy shook her head. She was scanning the
spreadsheets again. 'I need to talk to him about this,' she
said. 'Eighty per cent of our capital...' She looked up as
Zelda's phone rang, then seeing Zelda grimace to say she
had to take this call, she turned back to her own office.
After checking her watch to calculate the time in LA,
she picked up the phone and dialled the ATI number. If
this 'Untitled Feature' was going to be as big a project as
the proposed budget was suggesting then she wanted to
know more, and she wanted to know it now.
As she waited for someone to answer the phone she
quickly checked her calendar to make sure World Wide
LA's move to the ATI building had already taken place.
Yes, it had happened a week ago, which meant that
Michael and Ellen were no longer working from home.
Sandy didn't allow herself to dwell on how snug and
secure it all seemed over there for those two, it was best,
she found, to blot that from her mind - at least for the
time being.
'Michael McCann, please,' she said when someone
finally picked up. There was an abrupt click, the strains
of Satie or Chopin, then a voice said, 'Michael McCann's
office.'
'Is he there?' Sandy asked.
'Who's speaking, please?'
'Sandy Paull.'
'Sandy Ball?'
'Paull. With a 'p' Peter,' she said, irritated that whoever
this idiot was she appeared never to have heard of her.
'Can I tell him what it's about?' the girl said.
'Just tell him I'm on the line,' Sandy responded
shortly.
'I'm afraid he's not here at the moment. Can I have
him return?'
'Is he at home?' Sandy asked.
'Actually, he's at a meeting over on ...'
'Is Ellen there?' Sandy snapped.
'Can I tell her what it's about?' the girl enquired, like
a robot.
'Is she there?' Sandy repeated.
'I'll check. Can I tell her what your call is in connection
with?'
'What's your name?' Sandy demanded.
- 'Olivia.'
'Then listen to me, Olivia. My name might mean
nothing to you right now, but if you're at all interested
in hanging on to your job, I'd put me through to Ellen
and then go and do some homework on exactly who
your bosses are.'
'Uh, excuse me?' the girl said.
It was hard not to scream as, too late, Sandy
remembered it was never wise to speak in long
sentences when dealing with American secretaries. She
had no idea whether it was her accent they had a
problem with, or if they were all just plain stupid. What
she did know, however, was that when finally Ellen's
voice came on the other end of the line, for once in her
life she was almost glad to hear it.
'Sandy? What can I do for you?' Ellen said coolly.
'I'm fine, thank you. How are you?' Sandy replied.
'Michael should be back in an hour if you want to
speak to him,' Ellen told her.
'I'm glad you're well too,' Sandy responded. 'I'm
calling about the "Untitled Feature" that's just appeared on the spreadsheets. All it says is that it's a Tom
Chambers' script. Do you have a copy? I'd like to read it.'
'You and me both,' Ellen retorted.
Sandy hesitated, noting the edge in Ellen's voice. 'You
mean all this money's been set aside without anyone
seeing the script?' she said.
'In Hollywood that's not so unusual,' Ellen informed
her.
'Well, if such a large proportion of World Wide's
current resources is being directed into one project,'
Sandy said, 'then I think the rest of us should have been
consulted.'
'I'm sure you're right,' Ellen said.
Sandy was intrigued by this answer, as it seemed to be
confirming what she'd suspected a moment ago, that
Ellen was pissed off about something and it sounded
very much like it could be this movie. 'As the Head of
Development, perhaps you could tell me when a script's
likely to be available,' she said, enjoying the dig.
'As far as I'm aware no funds are being reassigned
from any of your UK projects,' Ellen responded, neatly
avoiding the question, 'so I don't understand your
concern.'
'Not concern, interest,' Sandy corrected. 'If it's going
to be World Wide's first major feature, I'd like to know
more about it. I'm sure that goes for Chris Ruskin in
New York and Mark Bergin in Sydney too.'
'I haven't heard from either of them on the matter,'
Ellen told her, 'but you can be sure that as soon as there
are any positive moves towards raising more finance for
the project, or if a script should be approved, everyone
will be notified.'
'More finance?' Sandy said. 'Exactly how big is this
budget likely to get?'
'It's impossible to say right now,' Ellen answered,
clearly annoyed by Sandy's persistence.
'What about stars? He must have someone in mind.'
'Richard Conway is looking pretty certain for the Tom
Chambers role,' Ellen answered.
Sandy was extremely impressed. 'Well, when it comes
time for the rest of the casting I hope you're not going to
forget McCann Paull's clients here in London,' she said.
'After all, we're supposed to be an international company
and if you're intending to sink 80 per cent of our
resources into a project that doesn't have a script...'
'Your clients won't be forgotten,' Ellen cut in. 'Now, if
you'll excuse me, I'm already late for a meeting.'
As the line went dead Sandy muttered 'bitch' under
her breath and hung up too. She almost always enjoyed
talking to Ellen, mainly because she knew how little
Ellen trusted her and how powerless Ellen was to do anything about it.
'Jodi,' she said, walking into the office next door, 'are
either of World Wide's project researchers in today?'
Jodi, who was Michael's assistant when he was in
London and general office manager when he wasn't,
looked at the schedule board behind her. 'No,' she
answered, as Sandy's assistant, Stacy, came into the
office, loaded down with scripts. 'They're due in
tomorrow - Stace they're going to fall!'
'It's OK, I've got them,' Sandy said, catching half a
dozen scripts as they toppled towards her. 'Why don't
you get the chaps in the post room to do this? What are
they, anyway?'
'Rejects from the readers,' Stacy answered, her flushed
face showing only relief as she deposited the rest of the
pile on her desk. 'I brought them up in case you wanted
to do a spot check,' she added, flopping down in her
chair. With her short, plump body and shiny brown hair
she looked the picture of schoolgirl health, despite being
a mere eight days from her thirtieth birthday.
'Call downstairs to World Wide and find out if either
of the researchers have put in an unexpected appearance,'
Sandy told her. 'If not, find one of them and get
him on the phone.' She was about to leave, then
suddenly turned back. 'I'm going to talk to Zelda, but I'll
take the call in my office.'
Some ten minutes later she was back at her desk
talking to Jeremy Whittaker, one of the World Wide
researchers, on the phone. 'I want you to find out
everything you can about an American woman by the
name of Rachel Carmedi.' Sandy said. 'She was shot and
killed in Colombia three years ago. There was
apparently quite a lot in the press about her at the time,
so it shouldn't be too difficult to get some background.'
'I vaguely remember the story,' he said. 'Was she from
New Orleans?'
'I think so. Get back to me as soon as you can. Actually
e-mail me whatever you come up with.'
As she rang off Craig Everett, the senior literary agent,
put his handsome blond head round her door. 'Fancy a
screening tonight?' he invited. 'It's at BAFTA. None of
our clients, so it could be a bit of a relaxer. Zelda's up for
it. I'm about to ask the others. OK, I'll be right there,' he
called back over his shoulder as someone yelled for him.
Sandy looked at her watch. 'What time does it start?'
she asked.
'Drinks at seven. Movie at eight.'
'Sounds tempting,' she responded, 'but I've got a
meeting at six over at the Beeb. I suppose I could make
the movie.'
'Try,' Craig said. 'You don't get out enough. What it
did to Jack it can do to Sandy.'
Sandy frowned and watched him go. Then, realizing
he was referring to all work and no play, she started to
smile. She really was fond of Craig, felt much more
relaxed with him than any of the other agents, even
though, amazingly, none of them ever appeared to have
a problem with her. Hopefully none of them guessed
how daunted she sometimes was by the fact she was
their boss, but it wasn't an insecurity she gave much rein
to, mainly because there wasn't the time - as Craig had
just pointed out.
How many women's hopes had he crushed over the
years by being gay, she wondered. And when was the
last time the two of them had sat down and had a good
old gossip over dinner, putting the world, the industry
and their complicated love lives to rights? Actually, his
was much more complicated than hers, as the great love
of his life was not only married with three kids, but just
happened to be a highly respected cabinet minister too.
For her part, since there wasn't any love life to speak of,
there weren't any complications either.
Smiling ruefully to herself she thought of Ellen Shelby
and her ill-disguised fears that Sandy was going to do
something to disrupt the picture-book perfection she,
Michael and Robbie were enjoying over there in
Hollywood. It was whenever she thought of that
cosiness that Sandy was thankful for how busy she was,
because knowing that Michael was making love to
another woman, when no-one was making love to her,
was even worse than the forced abstinence itself. She
fantasized regularly about Michael, reliving the night he
had made love to her all over his apartment, taking her
in every position and making her come like she never
had before or since. She wasn't sure what hurt the most
now, the fact that they had never done it again, or that he
had then turned round and fired her.
'Hello, Michael?' she said into the phone much later
that night.
'Sandy?' he responded. 'How are you? Burning the
midnight oil again?'
She smiled and looked at the e-mail on the screen in
front of her. 'I wanted to talk to you about the Untitled
Feature,' she said. 'If it's what I think it is, you've got me
really excited.'
Michael laughed, and she felt the pleasure steal
through her. 'Then I hope it's what you think it is,' he
answered.
'The story of Rachel Carmedi?' she asked. 'And her
kidnap and shooting by a Colombian drug cartel? I think
it's brilliant. It's got everything. Drugs, sex, love,
terrorism, street children and truth. Ellen tells me there's
no script yet.'
Tom Chambers is writing it. He's in Colombia right
now, but I'm hoping he'll be back in the next couple of
weeks. We should have the first draft shortly after.'
'Can I see it, when it comes? I'd really like to get
behind this. If you're looking for more finance, then I'd
be happy to do what I can over here. We've built up
some good contacts in the past six months.'
'Sandy, you don't know how wonderful it is to hear
you say that,' he told her, 'because I certainly will be
asking you to call on your contacts. I've got to warn you
though, the kind of investments we'll be looking for aren't
going to be in the tens of thousands. They're more likely
to be in the hundreds of thousands, if not millions.'
'Wow!' Sandy responded. 'You really are thinking
big. But having Richard Conway attached should
certainly help smooth the way. In fact, I can hardly wait
to see my backers' faces when I start dropping Conway's
name.'
Michael laughed. 'You know, it's really good to hear
your enthusiasm,' he said. 'Ellen seems to have
developed a bit of a down on it lately. I mean, she knows
it's a great story, but she's started thinking we're in
danger of upsetting the Colombian cartels, and considering
their propensity for kidnap and murder . . .
Well, to quote her, Robbie went through enough in Rio,
we shouldn't be putting him in the firing-line again.'
'She's got a good point,' Sandy responded. 'It takes
real courage to make this sort of film . . .' She let those
words hang for a moment, then said, 'Who are you
thinking of for the female lead?'
'It's still under discussion,' Michael answered.
'Directing?'
'Hopefully Vic Warren. He's got a conflict at the
moment, but he's working on it.'
'And producing? Apart from you, obviously.'
'Ellen and I are the executives. She'll concentrate more
on the creative side, while I take on the finance. The
actual hands-on producers have yet to be hired, Ellen's
currently working on that. We reckon the team will
number around eight, including associates, by the time
we're ready to roll. Tom's down as a producer too
'I'd like to be included, if I come up with some of the
funding,' Sandy interrupted.
'I don't see any problem with that,' he replied. 'Hey
listen, my other line's ringing. It's one of the ones I had
set up for Chambers. I'll catch you later, OK?'
Sandy rang off and after hitting a button on her
computer to print out some documents she needed she
began packing up to go home. Inside she was glowing,
the way she often did after speaking to Michael, though
tonight she was feeling a particular elation at how
readily he had accepted the idea of her being included as
a producer. She tried to imagine how Ellen would react
when she was informed, and spent some time enjoying
the various effects it would probably have.
Chapter 4

For the past five days Chambers had had one hell of a
time trying to figure out where he should be from one
minute to the next. Nowhere, it seemed, was safe, yet
anywhere was a haven. Since abandoning Cartagena,
over a week ago, he had slept in ditches, ridden on mules,
eaten from banana leaves and bathed in slimy lakes. Each
day brought a totally new and unexpected experience,
from having his face shaved by a cutthroat's apprentice,
to secretly watching the harvest of a coca crop, heavily
guarded by one of the nation's most notorious
paramilitary groups - men who were known to clear
villages by decapitating peasants and using their heads
as footballs, a sure-fire way of getting the rest to flee.
Deciding whom to trust was like a game of Russian
roulette with only one empty barrel. When Orlando
Morales, his former contact from the Cali Cartel, had
visited him in the dead of night in Cartagena, the man
had been easy to believe. After all, Morales had proved
himself in the past, so why not trust him again? And
Pacho Martinez, the notorious Mr Fixit and friend to the
cutting edge of Colombian society, was no more
invincible than any other man with a passion for
survival. Chambers knew that Pacho wouldn't willingly
sell him down the river, but he knew too that if it came
to his skin or Pacho's, then the Colombian's masseuse
was in a pretty safe job.
So he'd opted to go with Morales, whose past
allegiance to the Tolima Cartel was a big chapter in the
little man's history. That Morales was still alive could
only be down to the protection he received from the Cali
Cartel, and, if the past five days were anything to go by,
there were more than a few debts owed to the FARC one
of the country's leading guerrilla groups, and
arguably the most dangerous - for more often than not it
was they who had escorted them over some of the most
dangerous and bitterly contested terrain of the
Colombian interior.
Chambers still didn't know how Morales had come to
find out he was in Colombia, but the fact that he'd
shown up just hours after a call was made to the Santa
Clara hotel looking for Chambers, had been enough to
confirm that word of his arrival was out. Morales hadn't
made the call to the hotel, but, as he'd pointed out later,
he hadn't had much trouble locating Chambers once
he'd known he was in Cartagena. And if Morales could
find him that fast, so could others. Which was why
Chambers had driven out of the city with Morales and
two others in the early hours of Friday morning, and
travelled with them over the next five days to this
remote border village that time had clean forgot.
It was certainly the most peaceful place Chambers had
visited in this war-torn land, with barely a car to be seen
on the narrow dirt roads that were edged with decrepit
old houses and ran with mud for the best part of the
year. The rain came every day, sweeping in a fine,
gauze-like mist down over the gloriously rich green
mountains of the Magdalena valley, washing the huge,
succulent leaves of the banana trees and glimmering on
the red-tiled roofs of the village. Dry or wet, the humidity
was stifling, and the sun so bright on the whitewashed
walls it stung the eyes and drowned the streets in
dazzling light.
Chambers and Morales had taken over a small two
storey house at the far end of the main street. No-one
paid them much attention, and they rarely went out.
Throughout the day locals trotted by on their trusty
steeds, while others postured and swaggered about
street corners in their wide-brimmed hats and thick
checked ponchos. Every one of them smoked tobacco, or
chewed coca leaves, indulging in rowdy games with
unfathomable rules, while the women inspected
hanging slabs of meat for supper and kids scuffed
around in the dirt.
It had been a quiet and easy couple of days after the
ordeal of the journey, and should remain that way until
Morales's cohorts returned with word from El Patron that it was safe to move on, or necessary to stay put a
while longer. El Patron - the boss - was a man without a
name, though Chambers knew he was very probably
paramilitary, for that was how members of such groups
referred to their ranking officer.
Thanks to Morales he now knew the name of one of
Rachel's killers. Gustavo Zapata. It had come as no
surprise to learn that the kid, for he was barely in his
twenties, was a near relative of Hernan Galeano's: this
would account for the older man's refusal to hand
anyone over at the time the pressure was on. Morales
had obtained Zapata's identity from one of his 'sleepers'
inside the Tolima Cartel, but so far the other two names
were proving hard to come by. But there were ways of
finding out, and Chambers wanted to be around when
the Zapata kid squealed.
Morales was putting up no objection to that; he
understood the need to look a killer in the eye and let
him know how much worse it was going to be for him.
What he didn't understand was Chambers's professed
reluctance to execute the scumsuckers who had carried out the job on his girlfriend. But Morales was losing no
sleep over it. It was Chambers's call, he was only there to continue the payback for what the Galeanos had done to
his son after the boy had been seduced by Galeano's
bitch of a cockteasing wife.
It was evening now, a time when the veil of rain was
absorbed by the humid air and the strange stone statues
on the hillsides, carved by the hands of long-dead
craftsmen, basked in the fiery glow of sunset. Chambers
was standing before one now, gazing at the curiously
monstrous face and stout cribbed body. He wondered
about its origins, its creator, its link to the long-lost
civilization that had once inhabited these hills. He felt a
sense of timelessness stirring inside him, connecting him
to the past, or maybe the future. Rachel was never far
from his mind. He wondered if she was with him now,
looking at this ancient symbol of indecipherable
meaning. Her presence felt so real, he was sure if he
turned he would find her there. Would she speak to
him? Would she tell him to give up on this earthly
torment and come join her in a place where vengeance
had no meaning or purpose? Or would she guide him to
those who had wrenched her from the bonds of their love and consigned them to this hell of divided worlds?
Turning, he looked down over the hillside to where
the village lay cradled in the bowl of the valley. It was
several moments before he noticed the girl climbing the
path towards him. Her thick dark hair hung loosely
around her shoulders, her strong, athletic legs moved
gracefully over the grassy ascent. She waved, and
though she was still too distant for him to see her face, he
could feel himself warming to the childlike brightness of
her eyes and guileless beauty of her smile. Her name
was Carlota: she was a whore's daughter who had
ridden with them from the nearby town of Popayan to
this village where her grandmother lived. She looked
fourteen, though insisted she was twenty.
'I was looking for you,' she said as she joined him. She
was breathless from her walk; her clear olive skin was
sheened in sweat. 'They are saying in the bar that you
are wanted in your country for more than a hundred
crimes.'
Chambers crooked an eyebrow. 'Are there that many?'
he said.
'Oh yes,' she assured him. 'And I think you have
committed them all. Morales, he says you did, and that
no-one should mess with you, because you are a very
wicked and dangerous man.'
Chambers pushed his hands in his pockets and
started back down the hill. He liked the girl, enjoyed her
prattle, and knew he should dissuade her from seeking
him out.
'Where is your wife?' she asked, falling in beside him.
He threw her a sidelong glance, and carried on
walking.
She skipped up over a rock, then came down to block
his way. 'I want to be your wife,' she told him, her
slanted green eyes shining with mischief. 'I am a virgin.
I could be your wife.'
Picking her up, he set her aside to clear his path, then
laughed as she threw herself to the ground and tried to
pull him down with her. 'Morales says I must seduce
you,' she smiled up at him. 'He says you are in need of a
woman.'
'And you are a girl,' he said, pulling her back to her
feet. 'A child.'
'A woman!' she cried. 'I am a woman. I can give you
love, and I can make you special rate.'
They walked on in silence, until finally she said, 'The
men who were with you and Morales before we leave
Popayan, they arrive just now.'
Chambers felt a rapid beat in his heart. 'Did Morales
send you to find me?' he said.
'He told me to find you, and love you, then bring you
back to the house.'
Despite the sudden edge to his nerves there was a
glint of humour in Chambers's eyes. 'Here,' he said,
dragging a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket, 'tell him
you succeeded.'
She snatched the money, buried it inside her dress,
and said, 'It is too soon. He will know that there was no
love, because we come back too soon.'
Ordinarily Chambers wouldn't have cared what
Morales thought, but the man had been on his case for
days about a woman, and this could be an easy way of
getting him off. Let him think that he had taken the girl,
maybe then his celibacy would cease to be an issue.
'Come here,' he said to Carlota, and taking her hand he
pulled her behind a boulder and pushed her down on
the grass. 'I want you to lie there and be quiet,' he told
her, sitting down facing her and resting his back against
the rock. 'I need to think, and I need you to tell Morales
we made love.'
'Then let's make love,' she said. 'It will be easier that
way.'
There was great irony in Chambers's eyes as he
surveyed her. Lying there like that, so fresh and inviting,
she looked as desirable as any woman he'd known, and
God knew he needed the release. But no matter how
many times she had given herself before, sex with a
minor was no more his scene than sex with a horse.
It wasn't that he'd been celibate since Rachel died, far
from it, it was just that being back in this country was
reconnecting him to her in a way that made him want to
exclude other women. Were he being honest, he'd have
to admit, on an emotional level, it was pretty much that
way wherever he was. It certainly wasn't that he set out
to hurt a woman, but after he'd slept with her he just
didn't want the additional involvement.
He thought about Michelle Rowe, the British actress
who'd worked with him on bringing down the Brazilian
businessman Pedro Pastillano. In the time they were
together he had probably felt closer to her than he had to
anyone since Rachel's death, but, as beautiful as
Michelle was, there had never been a question of anything
more than friendship between them. He wondered
where her most recent letter was. It seemed he'd mislaid
it somewhere between Cartagena and here. It wasn't
important, he could always get her address from
Michael - as he recalled, she was currently working in
the Afghan refugee camps on the borders of Pakistan.
He liked the suggestion she'd come up with in her letter,
and wondered if she'd put it to Michael yet. Chances
were Michael wouldn't go for it, not now he had another
woman in his life. On the other hand Chambers could
make it a condition of his contract, when it finally got
drawn up.
Hector Escobar and Dario Galvis were drinking beer
with Morales when Chambers returned to the house.
Carlota left him at the door and gave a star performance
of having just been laid. Morales looked pleased and
handed Chambers a congratulatory beer.
'We have news,' he told Chambers, settling back in his
chair. 'Good news.' He signalled Hector to continue.
'We've got another name,' Hector said, his permanent
scowl allowing only a trace of satisfaction.
Chambers looked at him, his iron-grey eyes as sharp
as flint. 'How?' he said.
Hector shrugged. 'Never dump on a woman and
never trust one either.'
Morales said, 'Galeano's wife, the bitch my son was
killed for, is getting even with the husband who just
dumped her from a prison cell.'
'He found himself a nice young boy to take her place,'
Dario sniggered.
Morales looked at him, then turned back to Chambers.
'How do you know she's telling the truth?' Chambers
said. 'Who spoke to her?'
'El Patron spoke to her,' Hector answered. 'One of the
names she gave him is Julio Zapata. Gustavo Zapata's
older brother. They are the sons of Galeano's sister.' He
paused, then looked Chambers right in the eye. 'The
third name is Salvador Molina,' he said.
Chambers's insides turned to ice.
Morales and the others waited. In the end Morales
spoke again. 'It is the same Salvador Molina as Rachel
named in her reports, the one who fucks with kids.'
Inside Chambers was shaking. Of course, he'd always
suspected Molina, but there had never been any proof.
There was probably none now, but he didn't need it. All
he needed was a moment to make himself accept finally
that no matter what he had done back then, Molina
would have killed her anyway. It still didn't let him off
the hook, but it sure as hell sorted out any lingering
problem he might have had about taking another man's
life.
'How do you know?' he said.
'El Patron's men did the kidnap,' Morales answered.
'After that, they handed over to Molina and the
Zapatas.'
It figured. 'So what now?' he said.
'Now, you decide,' Morales answered. 'You want
these scumsuckers dead, you give the word. You want to
do it yourself, we will arrange it. Or maybe, now you
have the names, you want to leave and go back to your
own country.'
Chambers looked at the three men and saw their
contempt for the third choice, and for any man who
would take it. He thought of Rachel and what it must
have been like for her in those final moments when the
gun was pressed to her head. He felt her terror, her
desperation, her hopelessness .. .
There had never been any choice.

'You know, you didn't have to come,' Michael said.
'We'd have understood if you had other things to do.'
'What makes you think I had other things to do?' Ellen
countered as they watched Robbie and his two friends
leaping in and out of the water jets at Universal Studios'
Citywalk.
'We've always got other things to do.' Michael
replied, glancing over his shoulder as someone in the
crowd nudged past him.
Ellen sighed, then suddenly she was dodging behind
Michael and shrieking as Robbie made a dive towards
her in his soaking wet clothes. 'Robbie! No!' she cried. 'Robbie! Michael stop him!'
But it was too late as, much to the enjoyment of the
crowd, Robbie embraced her vigorously, drenching the
light cotton pants and pale silk shirt she was wearing.
'Right, you've asked for it now,' she declared, and
scooping him up she gave him a whopping great kiss
right in front of his friends.
'No! No! Oh, yuk! Ugh! Dad, stop her!' Robbie yelled,
struggling to get free as his friends clapped and jeered
and Michael looked on with great amusement.
Laughing, Ellen started to put him down, then
suddenly threw him at Michael. Instinctively Michael
caught him, clutching the sopping little body to his own
and soaking himself.
'Oh no, I don't want you kissing me too,' Robbie cried
in disgust, and quick as a flash he wriggled out of
Michael's arms and escaped back to his friends.
Michael looked at Ellen and they laughed. That
Robbie had taken so well to life in LA was a constant
source of surprise and relief to them both, though they
were always on the lookout for any repercussions to the
trauma he had suffered while in Brazil. He had been four
years old when he was kidnapped, an ordeal that was
sure to bear some kind of adverse consequences the
psychologists had told them. But so far there had been
none, and more than six months had passed since
Michael and Tom Chambers had rescued him. It was
also six months since his mother had relinquished
custody and allowed him to come and live with his
father, which, considering how well he was adapting,
went to show how remarkably resilient children could
sometimes be.
Watching them together now, it was hard to credit
that Michael's first meeting with his son had taken place
on that terrifying night of rescue, for their closeness
seemed to derive from a relationship that had started
with birth; But that hadn't been the case, for when
Michelle had ended her relationship with Michael and
taken off for Sarajevo, she had taken their unborn child
with her. And in an effort to punish her Michael had
refused ever to have anything to do with the child. Of
course, it hadn't worked that way, for the only one who
had really suffered as a result of his pride and
stubbornness was Michael. Now he was making up for
lost time, and Ellen had to hand it to Robbie's mother,
the woman was far braver and more generous than she
could ever be, for handing her son to his father and a
strange woman wasn't something Ellen could ever
imagine herself doing. In truth, Ellen knew it hadn't
been easy for Michelle, because she was often there
when Michael spoke to her on the phone and tried to
comfort and reassure her that Robbie was happy and
settling in well at school and at home. Ellen wondered if
it hurt Michelle to know that. It had to, even though
she'd never want him to be lonely or miserable, she
wouldn't be human if she didn't crave the comfort of
knowing he missed her. Which of course he did, but he
loved Michael so much and was so proud to be living
with the daddy his mother had told him so much about,
that like any other five year old he was often too busy to
dwell long on anything, even missing his mother.
Ellen smiled as she watched him and felt her heart fill
with love and gratitude for the ease with which he had
accepted her into his life. It could have been hell, but
because he was such an exceptional little boy, so full of
mischief and humour, as well as kindness and love, he
had gone a long way towards making these past six
months the most special she had ever known. In fact
there were times when she fervently wished that his
father was even half as easy to deal with.
'I wish I knew why you were mad at me,' Michael said
softly as he slipped an arm around her.
'Who said I was mad at you?' she responded.
'Well, the cold shoulder you keep treating me to
lately's a bit of a give-away,' he said, his eyes twinkling
with humour even though she knew he meant it.
She looked off along one of the walkways to where a
vast, lifesize model of King Kong loomed out over the
teeming masses below.
'I don't get it,' he told her. 'You set a date for the
wedding, then you can barely bring yourself to speak to
me. So what did I do?'
Lifting her eyes to his, she smiled and shook her head.
'Now's not the time,' she said. 'We've got Jurassic Park
and Back to the Future to get through yet, never mind ET
and the Hard Rock cafe.'
'You really didn't want to come, did you?' he
challenged quietly.
'Sure I did. I've just got a lot on my mind, that's all.'
For a moment it seemed he was going to let it go, then,
turning her to him, he said, 'It's to do with the movie,
isn't it?'
Her eyes fell away as she wondered if it would be a lie
to say that it was.
'A couple of weeks ago you were right behind it,' he
said, 'so what's happened to change your mind?'
She looked up into his face and, seeing his confusion
and concern, she felt such love swell in her heart that all
she wanted was to hold him and forget about what was
eating her. But sadly it wasn't going to go away that easily. 'Nothing's happened,' she said, 'except that not
knowing what we're up against in a bunch of Colombian
drug lords doesn't exactly make for a restful night's
sleep.' She shrugged. 'Maybe, once the script is in and
we've got some idea what we're really dealing with, I
won't feel quite so concerned.'
He was still looking at her, as though waiting for her
to say more. 'Are you sure that's all?' he prompted,
when she only looked back at him.
She smiled and marvelled at how well he knew her.
'Why do you say that?' she countered.
'I just sense it,' he said. 'So ami right?'
'OK, yes, I am holding something back,' she admitted,
'but only because we've been so frantic these past couple
of weeks that there hasn't been a chance for us to talk
about anything except work or school. I thought we
could today,' she said, looking at Robbie, 'but this comes
first.'
Michael looked at Robbie too, and when she saw the
frown on his face Ellen turned him quickly back to her.
'It's got nothing to do with him,' she said, 'I swear it.'
And, seeing the anguish retreat from his eyes, she stood
on tiptoe and kissed him. 'I love you both,' she
whispered.
He grinned. 'So you're not going to back out?'
'Of the wedding?' she laughed in surprise. 'Is that
what you were thinking?'
He shrugged. 'It crossed my mind.'
Still laughing, she rested her head on his shoulder. 'In
a little over three months from now,' she said, 'despite
the utter chaos our lives are going to be in because of this
film, I'm going to become your wife, and nothing or no
one is going to stop me.'
'Well, there's a relief,' he sighed, 'because I've already
booked the honeymoon and there's no way I can get my
deposit back now. Ouch!' he grunted as she nudged
him.
'And what,' she said, 'makes you think we're going to
have time for a honeymoon?'
'We'll make time,' he assured her, then pulled a face as
her cellphone started to ring. 'It's Sunday.' he protested.
'Look on it as a honeymoon rehearsal.' she advised,
digging around in her bag. 'It could be Jackie Bott. I told
her to call me as soon as she had an answer. Hello, Ellen
Shelby.' she said, into the receiver. 'Oh hi, Jackie! How's
it looking?' Her eyes were on Michael's as she listened to
the reply, and, as she started to grin, so did he. 'That's
fantastic,' she laughed, giving him the thumbs up. 'I'll
get a contract sent round to you first thing tomorrow. No
rush, have your lawyers look it over and get back to me
if there's a problem. Michael and I are meeting with
Reece and Otto on Tuesday at four, can you make it?
Terrific. We'll see you then. No, still no script I'm afraid,
but I've done a breakdown of the story and the kind of
locations, facilities, crewing, casting etc. it's going to
need, so I'll get Maggie to fax it over in the morning.'
As she rang off Michael cupped her face in his hands
and kissed her hard. 'I take it,' he said, 'you just added
the famous Jackie Bott to the producers' team.'
'It sure looks that way.' Ellen beamed, and, kissing
him on the mouth, she went to round up Robbie and his
friends to move them on towards the Jurassic Park ride.
It was way past eight o'clock when they finally
dropped off Robbie's friends and headed towards home.
Robbie, surrounded by souvenirs of the day, was
struggling to stay awake in the back, while Ellen went
between dictating notes for Maggie into a recorder, and
talking over the week's madcap agenda with Michael.
It really was going crazy now, as a couple of World Wide's smaller projects were gaining some interest from
the networks, and ATI was getting ready to go official
with the new packaging format Ellen and Michael were
introducing. Most of the other big agencies in town
operated like that - putting together directors, producers,
actors and writers - and though a number of ATI
agents had long been working that way as part of their
personal deal, it was only since Michael had involved
himself in the company that ATI was starting to be
recognized as a heavyweight contender on that front.
As they pulled up outside the house Lucina, their new
live-in housekeeper, opened the door for Spot to come
hurtling down the steps to greet his master.
'Hey Spot,' Robbie cried, scooping him up and letting
the dog lick him all over the face. 'We brought you some
hamburger. Can I give it to him, Ellen?'
'Sure,' she answered, 'let's just take everything inside.
Everything OK, Lucina?'
'Oh yes,' Lucina beamed, her round olive-skinned
face gazing upon Robbie and Spot with unabashed
devotion.
'Any calls?' Michael asked, taking damp towels, a
Hercules mask and a helium balloon from the back of
the Land Cruiser.
'Lots,' Lucina answered. 'The machine take them. My
English no good yet. You ready for bath, Robbie?'
Robbie's eyes grew wide as he looked up at Ellen. 'It's
OK,' she whispered, trying not to laugh, 'Daddy'll come
in with you.'
'Hey, you, me and Lucina in the bath, sounds like fun,'
Michael joked.
'I can bath myself,' Robbie said grumpily as he buried
his face in Spot. Then suddenly he brightened again.
'Can Spot come in too?' he said eagerly.
'I don't think so,' Ellen answered, taking one of the
bags Michael was passing her. 'Are your clothes still
damp. Give them to Lucina, she'll put them in the drier.'
By the time the front door had closed behind them
Michael was already in the study, playing back their
messages. There was nothing on the machine that took
calls from Chambers, but he was getting used to the
erratic nature of contact from Colombia now, so he
wasn't unduly concerned. The other tape took some
minutes to rewind, and by the time the first couple of
messages had played Ellen had left Robbie in the
bathtub and come in to join him. It was just as Michelle's
voice began that she happened to walk in the door.
'Hi darling, it's Mummy.' Michelle began. 'Sorry I
missed you. Hope you're having a good time, whatever
you're doing. How's Spot? Is he being a good boy? Your
letter was wonderful, and the photographs. I've put
them up next to my bed. I've got a surprise for you,
sweetheart. I'm coming over to Los Angeles in a couple
of weeks. Isn't that great? I hope it's going to be OK with
Daddy. Ask him to call me, will you? 'Bye darling. I love
you.'
Michael stopped the tape and looked over at Ellen.
'I'll get Robbie.' she said.
'Wait.'
She turned back.
'Is it OK with you?' he said.
'Even if it weren't, you don't think I'd stop him seeing
his mother, do you?' she snapped.
He stared at her, waiting for her to say more.
'What?' she cried, throwing up her hands.
'If she's coming she'll have to stay here,' he said.
Ellen's eyes flashed. 'Well, won't that be cosy?' she
responded tartly.
Michael's face darkened. 'I don't think I like the way
this is going,' he said.
'Oh, is that so? Then try seeing it from where I'm
standing, you'll like it a whole lot less. "I hope it's OK
with Daddy," like I don't live here. Like I'm not the one
who takes her son to school every day, who helps him
with his reading, or takes him horseback riding, or to the
dentist, or nurses him when he's sick, and dries his tears
when he's missing her . . .'
'You sound like you resent doing it,' Michael cut in.
'How dare you say that?' she seethed, almost failing in
the effort to keep her voice down. 'You know how much
I care for that boy, so don't you ever accuse me of that.
What I resent is her calling up and saying she's coming,
like I don't exist. And then you saying she's going to be
staying here, like I don't get a say in it.'
'So what are you suggesting, that she goes to a hotel?'
'I wasn't aware I suggested anything.'
He was silent for a moment, clearly trying to deal with
his anger. In the end, he said, 'You know, I didn't realize
you had such a big problem with Michelle.'
'Me? You think I'm the one with the problem?' she
responded caustically. 'I think it's you.'
He stared at her in genuine amazement. 'I need a basis
for that,' he said tightly.
'Maybe it's not a problem,' she said. 'Maybe it's
something you just don't want to share with me.'
'What the hell are you talking about?' he demanded.
Instead of answering she stared at him, furiously,
until finally she averted her eyes, not sure she wanted to
get into this while their tempers were so frayed.
'Come to the point,' he said shortly.
'Why don't you?' she shot back. 'You're the one who's
got something to hide, or secrets to keep, or whatever
the hell you're doing. So you come to the point. Just what
is it that you, Michelle and Tom Chambers have got
cooking together? I heard the message Chambers left,
and I've been waiting, Michael, more than two weeks for
you to tell me what the hell it's all about.'
'What message? I don't know what you're talking
about.'
'"Did you speak to Michelle?"' she repeated, her
voice shaking with anger as she quoted Tom Chambers.
'"I really think we could be on for this." On for what,
Michael? You've got something planned, the three of
you? Are you intending to go down there, is that what
it's about? You're just going to take off and go play
heroes again . ..'
'Hold it! Hold it!' he shouted across her. 'First, I'm not
going anywhere, OK? And if this is the reason you've
been so fucking difficult with me lately, then it's time
you grew up and learned to say what's on your mind
instead of bottling it up ...'
'Well, I think I just did,' she raged. 'So, what's the
answer?'
'The answer is, I don't know what the message meant
any more than you do. Whatever he's discussed with
Michelle, neither of them have told me. Is that OK? Does
that answer your question?' His fist suddenly hit the
desk in frustration. 'Jesus Christ, what is this, that you
think I'd hold back on you over something? Why would
I? What the hell do you think I've got to hide? And I
don't see you getting this way about any other project,
so while we're at it, maybe you'd like to tell me just what
you've really got against Tom Chambers and Rachel's
story?'
'Oh, so it's got a title already?' she said. 'Thanks for
keeping me informed.'
Michael rolled his eyes. 'That wasn't a title,' he said.
'But maybe it could be. Have you got a better idea? If
you have, then let's hear it. You're as much a part of this
damned movie as anyone else around here. And as far as
I can see, you're the only one who's got a problem with
it. So let's get it all out in the open, shall we?'
Ellen glared at him.
He glared back, waiting.
In the end she was the first to look away. 'I don't have
a problem with the movie,' she said, knowing how
ludicrous she would sound if she told him how shut out
Chambers had made her feel when he'd left that
message - and how Michelle had just managed to do the
exact same thing. The insecurity was hers, so she had to
be the one to deal with it. 'I just think we should ... Oh,
great timing!' she snapped, as the private line on
Michael's desk suddenly burst into life.
Michael snatched it up. 'Tom?' he said, looking at
Ellen. 'Everything OK?'
Chambers's voice was fractured by static on the line.
'I've got the names,' he shouted. 'I put them on the email.'
'You've got them?' Michael cried incredulously as he
reached over to turn on his computer. 'Are you sure
about them? I mean, that's fantastic. Brilliant. But we
can't afford for there to be any doubt
'There's no doubt.' Chambers assured him.
'Then congratulations, if that's the right word. This is
going to make all the difference. So tell me you'll be on
the next plane.'
'There are a couple more things I need to clear up
before I leave,' Chambers responded. 'I'll call you again
in a couple of days,' and the line went dead.
'He's got the names,' Michael said as he rang off.
Then, looking up, he saw that Ellen had gone. He stood
staring at the empty doorway. He guessed she had gone
to supervise Robbie out of the bath and into bed, but
despite loving her for how much she did for Robbie, he
knew that on this occasion she had used it as an excuse
to disappear while Chambers was on the line. It seemed
this movie was becoming a really big deal with her, and
for the moment he could only thank God that she didn't
yet know he had agreed to make Sandy Paull one of the
producers. That was a battle he really wasn't looking
forward to, but it seemed they had a few more to get
through before that one eventually reared its head.
Crossing the lounge, he stopped a moment to flick on
the outside lights, illuminating the pool and garden,
then continued on to the wing that contained Robbie's
bedroom and bathroom, the playroom, a guest-room
and the stairs to Lucina's basement apartment. He found
Ellen sitting on his son's bed, rubbing Robbie down with
a towel as he playfully attacked her with Buzz Lightyear.
She glanced up as Michael came in, then reached for
Robbie's pyjamas.
'Daddy,' Robbie said, as Ellen pulled him onto her lap,
'do you think Spot could have a pony?'
Michael's eyebrows went up.
'I mean, one day,' Robbie added hurriedly.
'What's Spot going to do with a pony?' Michael
enquired.
'Well, he could ride him,' Robbie answered.
'While you run along next to them?' Michael
suggested.
Robbie looked up at him and grinned. 'Will you come
riding with me this week?' he said. 'They're letting me
go on Frisky, because I was good last time, and if you're
good you get to go on Frisky, don't you, Ellen? Will you
come, Dad, and watch me?'
'I'll certainly try,' Michael promised.
'Ellen's coming, aren't you, Ellen?' he said, and
putting his arms round her neck and his head on her
shoulder he promptly fell asleep.
Smiling and kissing him, Ellen laid him down and
covered him with a sheet. 'And you stay there,' she said
to Spot, who was sitting up in his basket eager for
attention. 'No jumping on the bed, do you hear me?'
Spot wagged his tail and started to pant.
Michael came forward and leaning over his son
dropped a kiss on his forehead, while roughing Spot's
shaggy little coat. 'You didn't tell him?' he said softly to
Ellen.
'About Michelle? No. I thought you should.' She
carried on picking up Robbie's clothes, folding them and
putting them away, or tossing them aside for the
laundry.
'Can I fix you a drink?' Michael offered.
'No. I'm kind of tired. I'm going to take a bath, then go
to bed.'
'Is there room in there somewhere for me?' he asked.
'Like the bath?'
Ellen looked at him, but there was no smile in her
eyes.
Swallowing his irritation Michael turned and left the
room. He was waiting for her when she finally came into
the lounge. 'We're going to have to decide something
about Michelle,' he reminded her.
'I thought it was already decided,' she responded.
'She stays here?'
'That's what you said.'
'Ellen, for Christ's sake, she's his mother. How can I
tell her she can't stay here when we've got more than
enough space, and when she's going to want to be with
him as much as she can?'
'It's OK,' she said. 'I'll go stay with Matty while she's
here.'
'The hell you will!' he barked. 'This is your home ...'
'No, it's yours. You're the one who bought it, then
mortgaged it, you make all the decisions concerning it. I
just happen to live here
'Will you stop this,' he snapped. 'This is our home and
if you feel that strongly about Michelle staying here,
then I'll book her into a goddamned hotel and be done
with it.'
Though Ellen would have liked nothing better than to
leave it at that, she knew she couldn't. 'You just don't get
it, do you?' she cried. 'I've got no rights here, Michael. I
don't have any say in what goes on. He's her son and I
don't want to be here when she walks through that door
and makes me feel as though I'm some kind of
understudy, living with her son and his father while
she's off saving the world.'
Michael dropped his head and pushed a hand
through his hair. 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'I guess I didn't see
it that way.' He looked up at her face and saw the
anguish in her eyes. 'You do have rights,' he told her,
'and you do have a say. She's a reasonable woman, I'm
sure she'll understand.'
Ellen closed her eyes and sucked in her lips to stop
herself exploding again, or maybe it was to hold back the
tears. 'I guess I'm not being reasonable,' she said finally.
'She's his mother and I've got to accept that.'
'He loves you,' Michael said softly. 'We both do.'
Ellen swallowed, then took a breath.
'And think how it's going to make her feel if she
knows she's driven you out,' he added.
Ellen's eyes flashed with fury. 'Do you seriously
think I give a damn about the way she feels, when she
doesn't even have the courtesy to remember I live here
when she leaves a message on the machine? Do you
think she's given a single thought to how difficult it
might be for me, having her around? Has she hell? She
just assumes she can come swanning in here and we're
all going to welcome her with open arms like it's all
we've ever been waiting for to make up our little family.
That's presuming, of course, she's remembered I exist. I
mean, do you ever talk about me to her, Michael? Does
my name ever get mentioned? And what about Tom
Chambers? Surely he knows I live here? Or maybe he
doesn't. Maybe you forgot to tell him too. You keep
saying I'm one of the executives on this movie, but
that's not really true, is it? It's all yours, Michael. You're
taking all the decisions and I don't remember you
consulting me on a single damn thing since the day you
flew over to Washington and worked it all out with
Chambers. You've never brought the movie up for
discussion with any of us. You just decided it was going
to be made and expected us all to go along with it. Well,
that's OK. Since you're pulling the strings at World
Wide you can do that. But stop making out like I've got
some equal share in all this, when it's total bullshit and
you know it.'
Michael's eyes were glittering hard with anger. 'So
what do you want, that I cancel it just to make you feel
like you've got some power? Or would you prefer that I
handed Chambers over to you every time he calls?'
'I don't think what I want features here any more,' she
responded. 'So you just do what you have to do,' and
moving past him she went through the door that led to
the master bedroom suite.
It was an hour later, after a long, and partially relaxing
Jacuzzi bath while Michael showered in the cubicle next
to her, that Ellen finally donned a cover-all nightie and
walked through their dressing-room into the spacious
bedroom that looked out on one side to a fabulous view
of the glittering valley lights below, and in front to the
beautifully lit pool terrace.
She already knew she would find Michael there as she
could hear the TV, but she was surprised to discover the
bed littered with scripts and videotapes. Normally they
never brought their work into the bedroom, so she was
unsure what kind of gesture this was. But being in no
mood to start fighting all over again, she merely pulled
back the fresh cotton cover her side and slipped into bed.
Michael turned to look at her, then searched for the
remote and shut off the TV. 'Whatever I have to do to
make you believe that you're more important to me than
anything or anyone, I'll do it,' he told her.
Ellen looked up at him and felt what remained of her
anger starting to dissolve.
'Just please don't ever wear a nightie like that into my
bed again,' he implored. 'The punishment is too severe
for the crime.'
Unable to stop herself, Ellen laughed. 'Your bed?' she
said.
Michael pulled a face. 'Oh God, our bed,' he corrected.
'So what's all this?' she said, indicating the scripts and
videotapes.
He glanced at her sheepishly, and she wondered if he
knew how like Robbie he was when he put on that look.
'I need to do some work, and this is where you are,' he
said.
She laughed again, then sitting up she drew the
nightie over her head and tossed it to the floor.
Leaning over her he began kissing her neck and
breasts, while sliding a hand beneath the covers. She lay
back, feeling the desire slake through her as he began
teasing her in a way he knew she could never resist.
Because of tension and tiredness this was the first time
they'd made love in almost a week, and though they
both knew that the issues between them weren't entirely
resolved, they welcomed the closeness - or they would
have, had Robbie's voice not come across the intercom at
that moment calling for Michael.
He was gone much longer than he expected, and by
the time he returned Ellen was already asleep. He
looked down at her and silently prayed that she hadn't
heard the talk he'd just had with his son. But he was
pretty certain he'd managed to turn off the intercom in
time, and besides, there was no way she'd be asleep
right now if she had overheard what'd been said.
Chapter 5

It had taken a while to set up the safe passage, so by the
time word finally came for them to move out, Chambers
felt a rough edge of frustration to his relief. Carlota was
becoming too regular a visitor now, and presenting such
a temptation that he was almost ready to damn his own
morality for forbidding it.
'We leave at sundown for Popayan,' Morales said,
spreading a map over the cluttered table. 'From there we
will head for Neiva.'
Chambers looked at him sharply. Neiva was a hot,
Huila lowland town of small significance. It would take
them several hours to get there from Popayan, provided
they didn't run into any marauding gangs of bandoleros and cutthroat guerrillas on the way. He could wish it
was going to happen faster than this.
'What's at Neiva?' he asked.
'El Patron is sending someone there to meet us,'
Morales answered. He looked long and hard into
Chambers's eyes. 'El Patron's men have taken Salvador
Molina,' he said, switching from Spanish to English. 'El
Patron wishes for you to know that it is all right to kill
him.'
Chambers's steely grey eyes remained on Morales. He
was developing his own theories on what was happening
here and he didn't much like them - especially not
when it seemed as if he was about to be set up to take the
rap for a killing that he was not alone in wanting. No
one, but no-one was to be trusted, it seemed. Not even
Morales.
Still silent, he walked up the narrow stone staircase to
the small room he had shared with no-one and began to
pack up his belongings. Were it not for how badly he
wanted Molina he'd be figuring out how to give Morales
the slip the minute they hit Popayan. As it was, he was
prepared to believe they had Molina, and there wasn't
any doubt in Chambers's mind that Molina was the one
who had pulled the trigger on Rachel. Question was,
who else had he pulled the trigger on for El Patron, or
was it the Cali Cartel, to want him dead and a fall guy for
the killing?
With his bag packed he walked over to the window to
close it and noticed Carlota sitting on a wall opposite,
waiting for him to come out for his walk. He looked at
his watch, then up over the hills to see how far the sun
was from setting. No time for a final visit to the strange
and silent statues of the valley, but he wouldn't leave
without saying goodbye to the girl.
'You are late today,' she chided, as he crossed the
street towards her. 'Did you forget me?'
Chambers smiled to himself. He hadn't realized that
she saw their afternoon strolls as pre-arranged trysts.
'How could I forget you?' he teased.
Her dark eyes shone with pleasure as she got up from
the wall and stepped in close to him. 'You like my hair
this way?' she said coyly, tilting her head to one side so
he could better see how she had folded it around a
carved bone slide.
'It's lovely,' he answered, unable to stop himself
noticing the exquisite length of her neck, nor the softly
inviting flesh of her shoulders. 'I've come to say
goodbye,' he told her.
Her head snapped up and he felt a genuine sorrow
in his heart as he saw the confusion in her eyes. 'But
why? Where do you go?' she asked.
He smiled and touched her face with his fingers. 'You
knew I wasn't going to stay.' he said gently.
Her eyes were desperately searching his and for one
minute he thought she was going to cry. Instead she
looked off down the street to where her neighbours and
friends were going about their business. 'Will you kiss
me once?' she asked, turning back. 'Will you make them
think that you care for me?'
'I do care for you.' he smiled.
'You don't make love to me. That means you don't
care for me.' she replied sulkily.
He looked into her eyes and wondered if one day she
would understand that it was because he cared for her
that he wouldn't make love to her.
'Will you remember me?' she said.
'Of course I'll remember you.'
She gazed up into his face and he looked at the
seductive moistness of her mouth and noticed the gentle
rise and fall of her girlish breasts. For a moment he felt
engulfed by her femininity, and wished desperately that
life could be so easy that all he had to do was stay right
here with her.
'Will you send me letters?' she said shyly. 'Flowers?'
He nodded, and felt his throat tighten as he remembered
how much Rachel had loved to be sent flowers.
'And come again one day to see me?' she said.
'I can't promise that,' he answered and watched her
eyes fill with anger.
Then, very tentatively, she came up on tiptoe and with
her eyes closed she parted her lips for his kiss. He looked
at her a moment, then, gathering her gently in his arms,
he put his mouth to hers. It was as beautiful, naive and
alluring as he'd expected and no hardship at all to hold
her for a long, long time, as though they were lovers who
dreaded to let go.
'Do you promise about the flowers?' she said, when
finally he lifted his head and looked into her eyes.
'I promise,' he said.

It was the early hours of the morning by the time Galvis
steered the jeep into a brightly lit suburban street in one
of the better parts of Popayan.
It wasn't until they were inside the impressive
colonial mansion that Chambers realized they were
entering a hotel. It seemed they were expected, as an
elegant middle-aged woman was waiting to hand them
their keys. A smartly uniformed porter led them
upstairs to their rooms. There were two, with an adjoining
door. Morales and Chambers took the first, Galvis
and Escobar the other.
'We rest here only until morning,' Morales said,
dropping his backpack on one of the beds. 'We take the
chopper just after sunrise.'
Chambers nodded, then turned as Escobar came in
through the adjoining door.
'It's for you,' he said, handing Morales a note.
Morales read it quickly then tore it into pieces. 'The
chopper will come at midday,' he informed him. 'Now
we should sleep.'
Escobar left, and as Morales began to haul off his boots
Chambers disappeared into the bathroom. When he
returned the room was in darkness, and he could hear
Morales snoring softly. He made his way to the second
bed, and lay down in the slender, silvery rays thrown in
by a street light. The journey had been rough; he was
bruised and exhausted, so it wasn't long before he too
was sleeping.
An hour later he woke with a start, certain he had
heard a noise. He lay very still, straining his ears. On the
opposite bed he could hear Morales breathing. There
were no other sounds. After a while his heart rate
lessened, and soon after he was heading back for his
dreams.
He woke several more times, always with a jolt and a
quick rush of adrenalin. It proved how ragged his nerves
were, as there was never anything more sinister in the
room than the empty shadows in the corners, and the
rhythmic wheezes from Morales's open mouth.
When finally the sun came up he knew he would sleep
no more. He went to the window and stood watching
the streets come to life. He was trying to get a sense of
Rachel, wanting to feel her presence the way he had so
many times these past few weeks. To his dismay it
seemed she had gone, leaving a void in his heart and the
vague impression of a face that might or might not have
been hers. He found himself thinking of Carlota, and the
craziness that had come over him one day when he had
thought she was Rachel, returned in a forbidden body to
torment him for the way he had betrayed her.
Morales stirred and turned over. Chambers glanced at
him, then feeling the need to get out he grabbed the
leather bag that contained his computer and notebooks
and went silently from the room.
The streets were warm and finding a stall just opening
up he ordered himself a fritanga of two sausages and a
small black coffee. He carried it to a nearby park and sat down on a bench to eat and watch the early-morning
world pass by. He was becoming increasingly uneasy
about the upcoming trip to Neiva and was certain he
knew why.
Checking his watch for the time in LA, he decided to
give it another hour before calling Michael to fill him in
on his plans. Then picking up his bag he continued to
walk through the park, barely seeing the schoolchildren,
businessmen and street workers as they passed. Those
he never failed to notice, though, were the gamines, the
homeless children Rachel had cared so much about. A
lot of them would be runners for the jibaros, the small
scale dope-dealers who were the lowest of the low when
it came to the peddling of drugs. And the kids, who were
randomly and viciously beaten up by cops, crooks and
even each other, hung about in gangs that only fools or
addicts ever willingly approached.
It was some time later, as he stepped from the shady
interior of the magnificent Iglesia de Santo Domingo,
that he noticed an old woman selling flowers on the
plaza outside. Without giving it much thought he went
over and bought some for Carlota, then realized he now
had to find and pay someone to take them to her.
The entire process took an hour or more, as a crowd of
taxi-drivers, motor cyclists, baquianos, and even a
Telecom engineer gathered round, each swearing the
other was a thief in a bid to win the healthy fee for
carrying flowers to the village.
It was a farce. God only knew how the word spread,
but as the throng grew thicker and the good-natured
banter began to give way to menace, Chambers finally
parted with his money and flowers to a handsome

He still had no real confidence they would ever get
there, but he had to take a chance on someone and after
watching the boy roar off down the street on his Honda,
he summoned one of the taxi-drivers to take him back to
the hotel. It was past eleven by now and Morales was
probably working up a sweat wondering where in the
hell he was and if they were going to make the chopper
at midday.
When he got to the hotel the lobby was quiet, just a
couple of guests poring over a map of the city and an
overweight maid polishing the tunjo figurines on the
mantelshelf. He realized suddenly that he had forgotten
to call Michael, and made a mental note to do it the first
opportunity he got.
Now that the time of departure was approaching he
could feel his tension returning. Already he could see
Molina's shock as he, Chambers, walked into whatever
place they were holding him, and the hatred he felt as he
imagined himself face to face with Rachel's killer was
only made bearable by planning how greatly he was
going to make that son of a bitch suffer.
As he walked up the stairs he was going over it in his
mind. The Zapata brothers he had decided to leave to
Morales. It was Molina he wanted, Molina who was
going to know every moment of pain, every heartbeat of
fear, and unanswered plea for mercy.
At a turn in the stairs he stood aside for a woman and
her young son to pass. The boy looked up at him and he
thought fleetingly of Robbie, Michael and Michelle's
son, the child he'd never imagined Michelle would give
up. He wondered, once they arrested him for Molina's
murder, if there would be a way he could still get his
notes to Michael. Or maybe it wasn't an arrest that was
planned, maybe they would shoot him down too and
make out of it what they would.
The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he walked along the hallway towards the room he had left a few short hours ago. It suddenly felt like a lifetime. He wished the next few hours were already over, that Molina's mutilated and lifeless body was already slumped at his feet.
The old grandfather clock opposite his door chimed the quarter-hour. He could see a maid, vacuuming in a room further on. There was a 'Do Not Disturb' sign hanging on his door. The street door opened downstairs, briefly letting in the noise from outside. Music was playing, somewhere in the depths of the house. The smell of polish mingled with the freshly-cut flowers in a vase beside him. Suddenly all his senses felt heightened. His head was pounding as though the ordeal to come were already upon him. The bag on his shoulder was strangely heavy. The stubble on his chin felt like nails.
He looked around. Then he pushed open the door and went inside.
The curtains were still pulled, though pools of
brilliant sunlight spilled into the room. Everything was
as he'd left it: the bathroom door half open, a glass of
water on the night stand, Morales's boots on the floor.
He looked at the bed. Morales was still there.
The sudden shaking was so fierce it paralysed him.
Terror grabbed him, crushed his bladder and closed his
chest. A machete. It could only have been a machete that
had split Morales's head in two.
With a strange, jerky movement he turned round. The
door between the two rooms was ajar. He stared at it, then
went to it, hardly even thinking about whom or what he
might find. The curtains were drawn, but this time he
could smell the blood even before he saw it. Escobar and
Galvis were on their beds. There was so much blood it
was dripping into two small pools on the floor.
The beat of his heart was the only sound he could
hear. His whole body was stiff. He had to get out of there
as fast as was humanly possible.
Turning back he grabbed his holdall and took one last
look at Morales. The blood hadn't yet congealed, the
body would still be warm. It had happened less than an
hour ago, as he stood on the plaza arguing and bantering
with half of Popayan's drivers over who was to take
flowers to a dark-haired girl with the eyes of a child and
the heart of a woman. There was no doubt in his mind
that were it not for those flowers he would be lying there
on the only empty bed, soaked in his own blood, all but
minus his head.
Twenty minutes later he was at Machangara airport
waiting to board the next flight out. He had gone deeper
into the throes of shock, and the shaking was so bad
people were staring. He stayed with the crowds, hoping
to blend in and avoid the eyes of any possible pursuers.
It was anyone's guess now whether he would make it
out of this city, but, even if he did, there was still every
chance he was never going to make it out of the country.
It was late the following morning when Michael came
out of his office to the reception area of the executive
suite he shared with Ellen. Maggie, their joint personal
assistant, and her two-man backup team, Bob and
Olivia, were all at their desks, either fielding phone calls,
dealing with mail or, in Maggie's case, fighting to
achieve workable structures to Michael and Ellen's
impossible schedules.
Most of the reception was cluttered up with a dozen or
more half-opened boxes, unpacked patio furniture and
cellophane-wrapped plants, all waiting to take up
residence on the large, empty veranda outside. But on
the whole they were now sufficiently installed in their
new location to have started hanging paintings on the
walls, and assigning a telephone each to the growing
number of the movie's production personnel who were
currently housed in three recently-combined conference
rooms just across the hall. As soon as things really got
going Michael would relocate them to wherever he
could get the best deal on a soundstage and accompanying
offices.
'Is Ellen still down in the screening room?' Michael
asked, stopping at the cooler to help himself to water.
'No, she's gone over to Raleigh to meet with Jill
Stoner,' Maggie answered, 'she should be back around
one.' Her permanently flushed cheeks and tousled dark
curls made her look as romantic as the novels she feasted
on, and her gentle Scots brogue was always a welcome
reminder to Michael of his good friend and senior agent
in London, Zelda Frey.
'Here, did you see this?' Maggie said, searching the
scattered paperwork on her desk. 'It's from Richard Conway's managers. Ah, here it is.' Her dark eyes were
alive with mischief. 'Brace yourself, hen,' she advised,
'the man wants everything from a chef for his dog to a
coach for his voice. He's got a team of fourteen
assistants, all of whom need to be on the payroll; and

added to that he's got his own hairdresser, makeup
artists, dentist, that's right, dentist; manicurist, dialogue
coach, personal trainer and therapist. He needs four
winnebagos to house this royal entourage, and a fleet
of limousines to ferry them back and forth from the
set.'
Michael was laughing. 'Give me that,' he said,
snatching it from her.
'He thinks I'm joking,' Maggie informed the other
assistants. 'Watch his face when he finds out I'm not.'
And sure enough the humour made a fast demise as
Michael's eyes scanned the unbelievable list of star
demands. Tut a call in to his manager,' he said. 'Has
Ellen seen this?'
Maggie nodded as she swallowed a mouthful of coffee.
'She thought it was hysterical, like the rest of us, and can't
wait to see what your incredible powers of negotiation
do to the list. Our money's on it getting longer.'
Despite himself Michael laughed.
'Call for you,' Olivia told him. 'It's Jonathan Bridge at
Fox Searchlight.'
'I'll take it,' Michael said, reaching for the receiver.
'Jonathan? What news?'
'Three million, six per cent and you keep total control,'
the voice at the other end told him.
'Four and a half and the deal's done,' Michael responded.
'I'll get back to you. Is there a script yet?'
'Any day now.'
'I'm sticking my neck out for you here,' Bridge
reminded him. 'It would help to have a script.'
'You're not kidding,' Michael muttered as he hung up.
He was only too aware of how many favours he was
being done, and just hoped to God that Tom Chambers
was going to come through with this script. If Chambers
failed them, he and Ellen would be in bigger trouble
than either of them wanted to think about.
As if on cue the private line in his office started to ring.
'Tom?' he said, snatching it up.
'Thank God you're there,' Chambers responded.
'Where are you?' Michael demanded. 'What happened?
You sound stressed.'
'You could say that,' Chambers remarked drily. 'I'm
in Bogota. The guys I was with got involved with a
machete in Popayan, just hours before we were due to
connect up with Molina.'
'Jesus Christ, are you OK?'
'Yeah, I'm fine. I'm pretty sure I was supposed to go
the same way, but I was out buying flowers.'
Michael frowned. 'Flowers?'
'Another time. The important thing is I managed to get
out. I'm with someone I can trust now, at least for one
night. But just in case anything goes wrong I'm going to e-mail you the bare bones of a script and all my notes.'
'Tom, it's more important that you get yourself out of
there. Is there anything I can do this end?'
'If there is, I'll let you know. Check the e-mail and with
any luck, the next time you hear from me I'll be in Miami
en route to LA.'

Much later in the day Michael walked into Ellen's office
and found her sitting in a corner of a tan leather sofa, her
long bare legs curled under her. She was reading the
partially-written script and notes they had downloaded
and printed from Tom Chambers's e-mail a couple of
hours ago.
'So what do you think?' Michael said, closing the door
behind him.
Ellen looked up. 'The first word that comes to mind is
relief,' she responded. 'I mean, at least we've actually got something now, so we don't have to keep lying and
stalling. But yeah, it's good. Needs a lot of work, but on
the whole it's better than I expected. What about you,
what did you think?'
'I agree it needs work,' he answered, coming to sit on
the coffee-table in front of her.

She stretched out her legs, putting her feet in his lap,
and moaned luxuriously as he began massaging her
calves. 'Did I tell you, I got your son the whole way to
school this morning,' she said, 'then he reminded me he
had gym first thing and I had to go all the way back
again for his kit. Boy, was he mad at me, like it was my
fault. I could have crowned him, especially as it made
me forty minutes late for Jill Stoner. Mmm, don't stop
that,' she murmured, letting her eyes close as he began
squeezing her toes. 'Have you got any idea how much
this turns me on?'

'Well, seeing as you've fallen asleep on me three
nights in a row,' he reminded her, 'I could be up for
taking my chances while I've got them.'

Ellen's eyes started to dance. 'Don't tempt me,' she
said, and inhaled deeply as he pressed his thumbs into
the soles of her feet.

Grinning, he relaxed his grip. 'So will you take it on?'
he said, nodding towards the script. 'Help him get it into
shape?'

Ellen eyed him for a moment, then smiled. 'Is this the
carrot?' she said. 'Get her involved in the script, it might
soften her up a bit. Make her feel more needed.'

'Oh, come on,' he said. 'You're so far into this now you
surely can't be in any doubt about that. No, what I'm
saying is, we both know you've got a gift for making
scripts work, and I happen to think you could really
make something of this.'

'While you do what, exactly?'

Tight with Richard Conway's managers to see if he'll
agree to Spot's chef taking on the catering for the
Conway cur, and for my manicurist to fix up the
acrylics.'

Ellen was laughing. 'Since when did Spot get himself
a chef?' she enquired.
'You're looking at him,' he replied. 'And as you know,
I come cheap.'
Still laughing, Ellen returned to the notes in front of
her. 'You know, if I didn't have a wedding to sidetrack
me I'd be pouring all my excitement into this,' she said.
'I really think it's going to work, especially now I've seen
what Tom's already done. And we're pulling a terrific
team together, in case you hadn't noticed. Some of the
best.'
'Thanks to you.'
'And you. After all, you're the one who's raising the
money to pay them.'
'For now. We've still got a way to go, and if we don't
come up with more investment by the end of the month,
the payroll's in jeopardy.'
She sighed and chewed thoughtfully on her lip. He
wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know. 'Do
you reckon we're going to be able to afford another big
name to play Rachel?' she asked.
He took a breath to answer, then suddenly changed
course. 'Don't let's get into the casting now,' he said,
knowing she was about to start making a case for her
cousin Matty. 'Let's just sort the script out, 'cos without
it we're dead. Will you take it on? I mean, we could get
another writer in, but I don't think Tom'll go for that
and...'
'It's OK, I'll do it,' she said. 'Though God only knows
where I'm going to find the time. Which reminds me,
we're supposed to go see Robbie's teacher this evening
for his progress report. Can you make it?'
He shook his head. 'I'm meeting with the Touchstone
people at six,' he said. 'And there's a chance Tom might
fly in later. I got a call from him saying he was on a flight
out of Bogota. From what he told me on the phone it
seems things got pretty hairy down there.' He was about
to enlarge further when he remembered how nervous
she already was about the Colombian cartels, so keeping

it brief he said, 'Maggie's working on getting him a
connection in Miami.'
'Will he be staying with us?' Ellen said. 'Silly question.
I'd better call Lucina, tell her to get one of the guestrooms
ready. We could put him in the suite upstairs.'
She looked at her watch. 'I've got a five o'clock with
Rosa and Gerry,' she said, referring to a couple of the
ATI agents, 'can you call Lucina? Or no, I'll do it. I'll
have to give her a list for the market. Did you leave her
some money for taxis? Oh God, she's got her driving
lesson today, she won't be back until six. I'll get Maggie
to call her. God, I wish the woman could cook.'
'Why don't we order in tonight?' he suggested.
'Good idea. Chinese?'
That?'
'That's settled then, Chinese it is?'
Michael glanced over his shoulder, as though searching
out the extra voice that had voted against him. 'I was
wondering,' he said, getting to his feet.
Ellen looked up from the script. 'Wondering what?'
she prompted.
'If we came to a decision about Michelle?' he asked
tentatively. 'I'm going to have to call her back .. .'
Ellen smiled and got to her feet. 'I've had a good idea
about that,' she informed him. 'Why don't you ask her if
she can put off her visit until the wedding, then she can
stay with Robbie while we're on honeymoon.'
Michael grinned, and tilted her face up to his. 'You're
a genius,' he stated.
'You didn't ask your mother to take that on yet, did
you?' she said cautiously.
'No, not yet,' he assured her. 'But there's every chance
she'll stay on anyway. How many guests are we up to
)
now?'
'I'm keeping it to a hundred,' she answered. 'I just
wish I knew where everyone was going to stay. Can we
do a deal with a hotel, do you think? I'll get Maggie on
to it. But my parents and your mother will definitely stay
at the house. Matty can put up her own parents,' she
continued, walking over to her desk. 'Thank God my
dad's worked things out with Aunt Julie and Uncle
Melvin. Did you hear, Eugene pulled off a great deal
with Sony. He's using their studios to shoot the pilot of
that sitcom we can never remember the name of.'
'Which means we should find another title,' he said.
'Are you producing?'
'No, I've handed over to Kelly. Are you getting
involved in the script auction at five thirty, or am I?'
'Which script? And are we buying or selling?'
She cocked an eyebrow. 'Remind me, what do you do
all day over there in that office of yours?'
'You mean when I'm not fantasizing about my high
powered mistress?' he responded, backing her up
against the desk.
She could feel his erection pressing against her, and
wished desperately that they could just lock the door
and have a few precious minutes to themselves. But
even as she thought it Maggie's voice came over the
intercom.
'Rosa's just arrived,' she said. 'Gerry's on his way. You
missed lunch, so do you want me to send out for some
food?'
'We'll finish this later,' Michael said, kissing her softly
on the mouth.
'Do you think you can wait that long?' she teased.
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. 'Can you?' he
countered.
Smiling, she leaned over for the intercom. 'Ask Rosa if
she wants something,' she instructed Maggie, 'and I'll
have the same.' She let go of the button just in time, for
Michael's hand was slipping under her skirt and as he
pushed it between her legs she groaned out loud.
'Gerry's here now,' Maggie's voice informed them.
'Shall I ask them to wait, or shall I send them in?'
Ellen reached for the button again, inhaling deeply as
Michael's fingers moved inside her panties and started
to stroke her.
'Give us a moment,' she managed to respond, then let
go fast as Michael pushed his fingers deep inside her.
'Oh God, Michael, this is cruel,' she murmured, as he
lifted her skirt to her waist and pulled down her panties.
'Someone might come in.'
'They won't hang about.' he assured her, making her
laugh. 'And I thought we were supposed to be trying for
a baby.'
'We are,' she confirmed.
'Then this is the way to do it,' he said, and unzipping
his fly, he took out his penis and pushed it right up
inside her.
'Oh yes,' she whimpered. 'Yes, yes,' and as her legs
circled his waist, his mouth came crushing down on hers
and his hips began to jerk against her.
Within minutes they were both struggling to silence
their orgasms, and almost as soon as it was over they
were laughing.
'Sssh,' she whispered, stepping back into her panties.
'I thought we made a pact, no sex in the office.
Remember?'
'I never was any good at playing to the rules,' he
responded. He lifted her face up to his. 'Love you,' he
whispered.
'Love you too,' she smiled. Then she started to laugh
again. 'Do you think they're going to know?' she
asked.
His eyes twinkled. 'Who cares?' he responded, and
kissing her briefly on the lips he turned back towards the
door.
As she watched him go she was surprised to find
herself thinking about Sandy Paull. It was this very kind
of relationship Sandy had always wanted with Michael,
to be his partner in every way, though why on earth that
should have come into her mind now, she didn't have a
clue.
'Oh by the way,' he said, turning back as he opened
the door. 'Thanks.'
Ellen's eyes widened.
He grinned. 'About Michelle,' he said. 'I'll call her
tonight.'
After greeting Rosa and Gerry he returned to his own
office and the mountain of work that was piling up on
his desk. Though his mind was fully on what he was
doing, it was only a few minutes before he was stopped
by his conscience and his thoughts returned to Ellen - or,
more precisely, to the conversation he'd had with
Robbie a couple of nights ago.
It was the first time Robbie had mentioned anything
about wanting his mummy and daddy to get back
together, and though common sense told Michael that
this problem was long overdue, he couldn't help but be
uneasy when it had happened to coincide with Ellen's
own insecurity over Michelle. Were it not for that, he
might have discussed it with Ellen so that the three of
them could try to work through it together, but with the
way things stood he really wasn't sure how to play it.
Nor was he feeling very comfortable with the way he
had as good as lied to Ellen when he'd claimed not to
know what Chambers and Michelle were cooking up.
Not that either of them had actually told him what they
had in mind, but he had a pretty good idea. And, if he
was right, he didn't even want to think about how Ellen
was going to take that.

'Do you know what's most interesting about this script?'
Sandy said, looking up as Nesta came into the sitting
room of the flat they shared in Chelsea.
'What's that?' Nesta yawned, sinking down on the
adjacent sofa and kicking off her high heels. 'I thought
you'd have been in bed by now.'
'The message from Michael that came over the email
with it,' Sandy replied. 'Did you have a good time?
Where did you go?'
'It was OK. Ronnie Scott's. What message?'
'He's asked me not to discuss the script with Ellen for
the time being,' Sandy answered.
Nesta yawned again. 'Do you think I'm getting too old
for all this?' she said, looking down at her expensive
purple and black dress that was cut so low in the front
that her breasts were barely covered.
'Probably,' Sandy answered. 'You're back early, so I
take it it was just a date, no extras?'
'No extras,' Nesta confirmed, her small, kittenish face
looking pale and tired. 'So what's it like, the script? Any
good?'
'Not bad, what there is of it. Apparently Ellen's going
to work on it with the writer, you know, Tom Chambers,
to get it in shape. Apparently that's her forte, whereas
the role I've been allocated is coming up with some of
the finance. I've made a start, but I could do with some
help.'
Nesta chuckled. She was a good person to ask, for
there were any number of men she could call on who
might be interested in coughing up the odd ten grand or
more. In fact, it wouldn't be the first time Sandy had
found backers through Nesta's private network, though
so far she had only been seeking to raise finance for
World Wide UK projects. This was going to be a much
bigger deal, meaning that the brokerage fee Nesta would
receive would provide a serious boost to her early
retirement fund. 'I'll get back to you on it,' she said. 'Any
news on Maurice, by the way?'
Sandy shook her head sadly. Right up until three
weeks ago, when he'd had a stroke from which he
wasn't expected to recover, Maurice Trehearne, the well
known property tycoon and Sandy's mentor, had
continued to pay someone to advise her and take care of
her interests. It wasn't that she really needed his support
any more, it was simply that the old man had wanted a
professional excuse to stay in her life, and being as
indebted to him as she was, as well as caring for him
deeply, Sandy was happy to do whatever he wanted.
'His daughter was at the hospital earlier,' she said.
'Looked right through me.'
Nesta's eyebrows rose with interest. 'Makes you
wonder what's in the will,' she commented. 'Could be
you'll end up backing this movie yourself.'
Sandy threw her a look.
'Just a thought,' Nesta said. 'So what about Michael
asking you not to discuss the script with Ellen? What do
you reckon that's all about?'
Sandy shrugged. 'Probably that he hasn't told her yet
that he's making me a producer,' she answered. 'That is,
provided I come up with some finance, of course.
Anyway, it doesn't exactly speak of total harmony
between them, does it? And long life to all the discords
in their cosy little opera, is what I say. Except, to
continue with the musical theme, there don't appear to
be enough bad notes for them to call off the wedding.'
Her eyes were dancing as she added, 'Stay sitting for this
one - I've been invited.'
Nesta's large hazel eyes grew bigger than ever.
'You're kidding! They've invited you.'
'You don't have to say it like that,' Sandy objected.
'And if you think about it, they don't really have a lot of
choice. I mean, they can hardly invite every other agent
at McCann Paull and not me, can they?'
'So, are you going?'
Sandy yawned and stretched. 'To LA, of course,' she
said. 'But not to the wedding. How can I, when there's
not going to be one?'
Nesta looked at her and shook her head in dismay.
'I've never known a woman hold on to a lost cause for so
long,' she said bluntly.

Sandy was unruffled.
'You really think you can break them up?' Nesta said.
Sandy pulled a face as she thought, then, looking
Nesta straight in the eye, she smiled and nodded.
Chapter 6

'OK, everyone,' Ellen said, calling the meeting to
attention. 'Grab your coffee and take your places. I think
we're all here now. Tom Chambers won't be joining us,
I'm afraid. He flew in late last night, so he's catching up
on some sleep. And for those of you who haven't yet met
Michael, this is he. Be nice to him because he's paying
the bills.'
Everyone laughed and, as they settled down at their
desks, they turned their chairs to face Ellen and Michael
who were sitting on the edge of a very long table at the
front of the office. Ellen was about to speak again when
Maggie put her head round the door and waved at her.
'I've got someone from Marie Claire on the line,' she
said, 'wanting to know if you'll talk to them about being
a working stepmother. Or maybe that should be
wicked,' she added, frowning curiously at her notebook.
Michael laughed and Ellen nudged him. 'If there's
time in the schedule,' Ellen answered. 'When do they
need it by?'
'I'll ask. They want to bring their own photographer
as well, and I think they want to do it at the house. I'll
check all that, but in principle, are you up for it?'
'Yes,' Michael answered. 'We need all the publicity we
can get.'
'OK, let's get started here,' Ellen said, as Maggie
disappeared. 'Cissy Carr and her assistant, Kyle, just
joined us today. I'm sure you've all met already, but just
in case, Cissy's in charge of casting. And Joe Kenyon,
who's sitting at the back over there, is our art director,
who Vic Warren appointed a couple of weeks ago.
Obviously, you all know that Vic's going to be directing
the movie, but as he's still tied up on another project,
which he's currently shooting over in France, he won't
be joining us for a while yet.'
She glanced down at her notes and was about to continue
when a voice just in front of her said, 'Uh, before
we really get started, there's something I'd like to say.'
Ellen looked up and gave a smile of encouragement to
Billy Christopher, the tall red-headed guy from Texas,
whose explosion of freckles was as sunny as his nature.

'Urn, I'd just like to say on behalf of us all here,' he
began, getting to his feet, and glancing round at the
dozen or so of his colleagues, 'that we're all real proud
to be getting involved in this movie, and that it's a big
honour to us all to be working with you, Ellen, and you,
Michael. And thank you, both of you, for giving me my
stripes as a fully-fledged production manager. I promise
I won't let you down - and thank you for all the courage you're showing in giving a lot of other people in this
room their breaks too, I know they won't let you down
either.'
'Hear, hear!' Cissy called out. 'We're right with you,
Ellen and Michael.'
As everyone broke into applause, Ellen turned to
Michael and tried not to laugh, for she knew how
uncomfortable he was with this kind of Californian
emotion.
'Thank you for that,' Ellen said, once the applause had
died down. 'Speaking for both Michael and myself, we
know what a great team we have here, and I think we're
all in agreement, considering the story and what you've
seen of the script, that we'd have to work pretty hard to
fail at this one.'
Everyone laughed and murmured agreement, then
Ellen turned to Michael for him to take over.
'OK,' he said, 'I'm going to start the ball rolling by
talking to you a bit about the financing of the picture,
and then we'll get on to your individual budgets. You all
know what a risky business it is, raising the investment,
and keeping the whole thing rolling, and it's my
intention to keep you informed every step of the way,
even if we're in danger of running out of funds - which
frankly we're pretty damned close to now. Yeah, believe
it or not we're already heading fast towards the wall, but
I've had word from one of my partners in the UK that
something could be coming through over there any
time, so no need to start sweating just yet.'
Half an hour later, having confirmed that Richard
Conway was now signed, which should help the
financing no end, and having assured them that the
many possible legal problems they could run into, given
the subject of the movie, were being investigated,
Michael took the topped-up coffee Ellen passed him and
was about to carry on when she leaned over to whisper
in his ear.
'I'd better go get Robbie now.' she said. 'Don't forget
to tell them about the cocktail party next Friday when
they can get to meet Tom Chambers and Richard
Conway.'
'OK,' Michael nodded. 'Will you be back in time for
lunch?'
'I should be. Where will I find you?'
'Probably at the Four Seasons. I'll give Tom a call in an
hour, see if he's feeling human yet.'

It was almost three in the afternoon by the time Ellen
finally abandoned her car to the valet at the Four
Seasons hotel and ran inside the plush marble lobby to
take the elevator to the fourteenth floor. She was over an
hour and a half late, having got to Robbie's school to find
out he didn't feel sick any more and wanted to go join
his friends at T-ball practice. Of course the bus was long
gone, so Ellen had to drive him over to Culver City
herself, then go back to the school to pick up the
briefcase she'd managed to leave there.
She was on her way back to the office when she'd got
a call from the wedding organizer with a thousand
questions that needed answers right away, so she'd
detoured over to Crescent Heights to go calm him down.
Just roll on when Matty got back from Denver where she
was just finishing up filming a mini-series for Lifetime,
with any luck she'd take over some of the wedding plans
and provide Ellen with the odd five-minute respite from
total madness.
By the time the elevator doors opened to let her out
she had managed to tidy her hair and touch up her
make-up, though why she was doing it for Tom
Chambers, who had insisted on staying in a hotel rather
than with them, she had no idea. Then she remembered
that it was for Michael, who was already there. He
would know if she hadn't bothered to make an effort
and she didn't want to let him down when she knew
how much it meant to him that she and Chambers got along. And she was certain they would, provided he
didn't ostracize her with his thoughtlessness again.
It seemed she was going to have to turn it all on for
Michelle much sooner than she'd expected as well, for,
as it happened, though Michelle would be delighted to
come to the wedding, she had to make a trip to LA next
week anyway to co-host some kind of fund-raiser for a
children's charity. She'd be staying for ten days and the
only positive aspect Ellen could find to that was that
maybe she could take over some of the ferrying around
of her son. Except even thinking about that scared Ellen
half to death, for she loved Robbie so much that despite
the chaos he was causing in her life, she just couldn't
imagine it without him now. She was over-reacting of
course. Michelle was only coming for a visit, not to take
Robbie away, at least she hoped to God that wasn't
going to happen. Maybe if she could get pregnant
herself . . . But it was ludicrous to think that a child of
their own could ever replace Robbie, and besides, just
where was she going to find the time to have a baby,
when lately they barely had time even to make love?
She was about to knock on the hotel room door when
her cellphone sprang into life. Fumbling in her bag, she
found it, clicked it on and knocked the door.
'Ellen Shelby,' she said into the phone
'Hi, Ellen, it's Gretta Monk, I got your message.'
'Oh Gretta!' Ellen cried. 'Thanks for calling me back. I
was wondering, are you going to pick up Matthew from
T-ball later? You are? Great! Could you pick up Robbie
too and drop him by the house?'
'Oh gee, Ellen, I'm sorry. My folks are flying in from
Boston at five so we're going right on to the airport to
collect them, then we're going to my sister's in
Rhodondo Beach for dinner. Any other time, honey.'
'Sure, OK,' Ellen responded, her heart sinking as
Gretta rang off and Michael opened the door.
'Hi sweetheart,' he said. 'Come on in. Are you OK?'
'Oh yeah, yeah,' she answered, forcing a smile. 'Sorry
I'm late. You got my messages?'
'Sure. Do you want some coffee? You look like you
could do with some.'
'I could,' she replied, looking around the large,
beautifully furnished suite with its tall, sunlit windows,
subtle grey and rose pink drapes and upholstery, and
impressive assortment of technology.
'Tom's in the other room, on the phone,' Michael told
her, crossing to a table that was cluttered with the
remains of the lunch she should have joined them for.
'Sit yourself down. Was Robbie OK?'
'I think so,' she answered, grimacing at her reflection
in a full-length mirror - it seemed her quick-fix job in the
elevator wasn't as effective as she'd thought. But then
there was precious little she could do about the heat,
which was the main cause of the creases in her limp
looking tangerine silk top and brown linen skirt. 'God I
look a mess,' she groaned, trying to straighten herself
out. 'Anyway, how's it going? Obviously he got out of
Colombia OK. Have there been any repercussions?'
'A few,' Michael responded, discarding the coffee on
the table and going to the phone to order fresh. 'They're
trying to load him with three murders in Popayan, but
they don't stand much chance of getting away with that.
Yeah, room service, could you bring some fresh coffee to
room 1426?' He turned to Ellen. 'Have you eaten?'
'No, and I'm starving,' she answered. 'Order me a
chicken sandwich, or no, some bruschetta and goat's
cheese.'
Michael placed the order then rang off. 'Ah, here he
is,' he said, as the bedroom door opened and Tom
Chambers came into the sitting-room.
Ellen looked up and to her surprise felt the welcome
fade on her lips as she met the intense grey eyes of a tall,
casually dressed man with dark, silver-streaked hair, a
strong, rugged face, and an extremely impressive
physique. It had never even occurred to her that he
might be attractive, and certainly not as attractive as this.
Quickly, she reasserted her smile and got to her feet.
'Tom,' she said, holding out her hand as he came
towards her. 'It's really good to meet you at last. I've
certainly heard enough about you.'
Chambers laughed and Ellen's eyes widened at the
surprising transformation it made to his otherwise dark
and austere features. 'Well, I've got to tell you, it's good
to meet you too,' he responded, shaking her hand. 'And
one thing's for sure, you're a hell of a lot prettier than
him.' He grimaced. 'I guess I could be shot for making
remarks like that in this town, so I take it back, and
replant it as a mere thought.'
Ellen's eyes were dancing, she was enjoying the
flirtation and the fact that Michael was starting to scowl
was making her enjoy it all the more. 'It was a relief to
find out you'd got here safely,' she told him. 'Michael
tells me you're being accused of murder,' she added,
startling herself with the casualness of her tone.
Chambers's eyes were alive with humour. 'Well, it
won't be that that causes me to lose any sleep tonight,' he
assured her, and she felt herself flush at the subtle
implication that she just might.
'I ordered more coffee,' Michael said as someone
knocked on the door and Ellen's cellphone started to
ring.
As she dealt with the call, and the three others she had
to make as a result of it, Michael poured them all coffee
and steered her to the table to sit down with her food.
Then he and Chambers returned to the sofas and the
coffee-table between them that was littered with
Chambers's maps, reference books, newspaper cuttings,
photographs, notebooks, a laptop computer and portable
printer.
'It's kind of hard to figure out how we're going to end
the script when I didn't actually get near any of the
killers,' Chambers was saying as Ellen, licking her
fingers, went to kneel on the floor next to Michael. 'I
mean, we can go either way, stick to how it is, me getting
out before I got my head split in two, which, the way I
see it, kind of dead-ends the drama, or fictionalize. Then
we can go whichever way we want, and I could get the
satisfaction of seeing the bastards shot down on film,
even if it's not going to happen in reality.'
'I think we should go for both,' Ellen said, putting
down her napkin and helping herself to Michael's
coffee. 'Gruesome as they are, the machete murders are
too powerful to lose, and knowing it's an end that you're
going to meet if you stay, it makes sense for you to get
out of the country fast - the way you did. So in my

opinion, that's the way it should go - exactly as it
happened. And from there we fictionalize. Script it in a
way that could feasibly be true. My suggestion is that we
explore what might happen should Galeano's people
come looking for you here.'
Michael and Chambers looked at her. 'In LA?' Michael
said.
She nodded. 'If we bring it into the States,' she
explained, 'it could have a much greater impact on an
American audience than if we kept it in Colombia. And
I'm just praying to God that I'm not making some kind
of prediction here,' she added with a smile that in no
way belied her seriousness.
Michael looked at Chambers. 'Is that likely to
happen?' he asked.
Chambers shook his head. 'Not unless Galeano's
nephews, the Zapata brothers, start making some
serious progress in pulling the Tolima Cartel back
together,' he answered. 'And that's not looking likely.'
'Do any of them know you're planning to make a
movie?' Ellen asked. Again Chambers shook his head. 'No-one in the
Tolima Cartel,' he answered. 'And that's the only one
that matters.'
'These nephews are the ones who were involved in
Rachel's kidnap and murder?' Michael said.
Ellen looked at Chambers to see how he responded to
the mention of his dead girlfriend's name, but there was
no expression in his eyes as he answered Michael's
question.
'The very same,' he said. 'So we bring the chase to
LA,' he went on, returning them to the script. 'What
then?'
'We don't need to decide on that right now,' Ellen
answered. 'There's going to be a lot of time for
discussion, and what we really need is to get the opening
straightened out. It's got to start with a good, strong
background on Rachel. I take it this is her?' she said,
picking up a glossy ten-by-eight photograph of a
strikingly beautiful dark-haired woman. 'She's lovely.'
Chambers's eyes remained on Ellen.
'How old was she?' Ellen asked.
'When she was killed? Twenty-nine.'
'And when you met her?'
'Twenty-seven.'
Ellen nodded and looked at the photograph again.
'Do you have copies of the journal she worked on in
New Orleans?' Michael asked.
'Sure, they're right here,' Chambers answered, sorting
through the scattered piles on the table. 'And photographs
of the office. I thought they'd help if you were
going to build the set here in LA.'
'They will,' Michael answered, taking the journal and
photographs and flicking quickly through them.
Chambers got up to go for more coffee.
'Now's not the time,' Ellen said, 'but at some point I'd
like to sit down with you and have you tell me
everything you can about Rachel. You know, what kind
of personality she had; the things she liked, or didn't like
to do; stuff she felt passionate about; the people in her
life who really mattered; the kind of clothes she wore;
her views on politics, religion, human rights obviously;
things that made her laugh or cry or get mad. You get the
idea. Is that going to be OK for you?'
'Sure,' he answered.
As he poured the coffee and Michael picked up a call
on his cellphone, Ellen looked at Rachel's photograph
again. Though she wouldn't say so to Chambers, the
image of Rachel's face was affecting her deeply, for the
energy and warmth that seemed to flow from her smile,
the joie de vivre that lit up her exotic eyes and seemed to
add such abandon to her laughter, made it almost
impossible to believe that she was no longer alive. It was
no wonder Chambers had loved her so much, Ellen
thought, it would be hard for any man not to love a
woman like this.
Ellen looked up at him and wondered if now was a
good time to broach the subject of Matty. Though Matty
wasn't quite as striking as Rachel, she was certainly
lovely, and so right for the part of Rachel that Ellen just
knew, once he saw her, that Chambers would agree.
'Have you given any thought to where you're going to
shoot the main stuff?' Chambers asked, picking up his
coffee.
'We've discussed it briefly,' Ellen answered. 'Probably
Mexico or Peru. Definitely not Colombia, anyway.'
Chambers laughed and turned to Michael as he
finished his call. 'Did you talk to Michelle recently?' he
asked.
'Mmm, yesterday, as a matter of fact,' Michael
answered, swallowing a mouthful of coffee before
passing the cup back to Ellen. 'She's coming over here
next week, so you'll see her.'
'Hey, that's great,' Chambers declared. He gave a
quick glance at Ellen to make sure it was, and seeing
nothing to deter him, he said, 'Is your brother coming
with her?'
'No. He'll be here for the wedding though.'
'Wedding?' Chambers echoed. 'Are you guys getting
married?'
'In a little over eight weeks,' Ellen informed him.
Then, looking up at Michael, she added, 'If we can find
enough time to organize it.'
Michael grinned and touched her face. 'You don't get
out of it that easily,' he warned her. 'You're going to
come, aren't you?' he said to Chambers.
'Sure, if I'm invited,' he responded. 'Wouldn't miss it
for the world. Will this be before or after we shoot?'
Ellen burst out laughing. 'It's going to be months
before we can get this into production,' she told him.
'There's a hell of a lot of prep to do and if these phones
would stop ringing we could probably get on with it.
Ellen Shelby,' she said into her cellphone.
'Hi, Ellen, it's Gary Negroni's mother,' the voice at the
other end told her.
'Oh hi, thanks for calling me back,' Ellen responded,
wondering if the woman had forgotten her own name
since becoming a mother. 'I was wondering, is there any
chance you could pick up Robbie when you go for Gary
this evening?'
'I'm sorry, dear, but Gary didn't go to T-ball this
afternoon, he hurt his ankle running on Tuesday.'
Ellen's heart sank. 'Oh I see,' she said. 'Sorry to hear
that. I hope he recovers soon.'
By the time Ellen rang off Michael and Tom were
exchanging more ideas on location possibilities, so she
quickly dialled another number and waited for Lucina
to answer. But their housekeeper wasn't at home, which
was no surprise really, when today was her day off.
'Damn!' she muttered, clicking off the phone and
throwing it back in her purse.
Michael turned to look at her. 'Are you OK?' he said.
'Yeah.' She hesitated, then said, 'Honey, is there any
chance you can go pick up Robbie from T-ball? I've got
a meeting with Richard Conway at five and that's the
time Robbie gets off.'
Michael was already shaking his head. 'I've got a five
thirty with Tony Brown at Fox,' he said.
Ellen looked beaten.
'I'm sorry, honey,' he said. 'Is there no-one else?'
'No-one I can find,' she sighed.
"Then why don't you give me the address and I'll go
get Robbie?' Chambers suggested.
Ellen's lovely brown eyes came up to his. She couldn't
have given him a more adoring look had he been the
Saviour Himself.
Chambers laughed. 'It'll be like old times,' he said. 'I
used to go pick him up a lot when we were in Rio.'
'Are you sure you don't mind?' Ellen said.
'It'd be a pleasure, especially if it's going to take that
worried frown off your face.'
Michael turned to look at her, and slipped a hand into
her hair.
'It'll make his day, seeing you,' Michael smiled.
Chambers's eyebrows rose in a way that made Ellen
laugh. 'So going back to Michelle,' he said. 'Did you talk
to her yet about the idea she had for the movie?'
To Ellen's surprise she felt Michael tense. Then she
realized, from his next words, that he was stalling. 'You
know what I did talk to her about,' he said, 'was the Brazilian guy you two brought down. Did you know he
got a life sentence?'
'Much less than the bastard deserves,' Chambers
commented. 'Yes, I had heard.'
'What idea did Michelle have for the movie?' Ellen
wanted to know.
Chambers's eyes moved between her and Michael.
Michael looked away, so Chambers was forced to turn
back to Ellen. 'She wants to play the part of Rachel,' he
told her. He let a beat go by, then added, 'And
personally I can't think of anyone I'd rather have do it.'
Every muscle in Ellen's body had turned rigid. She
looked at Michael, waiting for him to object, but he said
nothing. And then she realized that even if he hadn't
actually known this was coming, he'd pretty much
guessed it.
'Actually,' she said, 'Michael's keen to go with star
names, and no-one in the States has ever really heard of
Michelle.' She looked at Michael, waiting for him to
agree with her.
'Well, everything's open for discussion,' he said,
avoiding her eyes.
At that Ellen's anger increased to such a pitch she
could feel herself starting to shake. But there was no way
she was going to lose it in front of Chambers, so forcing
an icy smile back to her lips she said, 'Well that's good,
because I'd like Tom to meet Matty. I think, once you see
her.' she said to Tom, 'you'll agree with me that she's
absolutely right for the part of Rachel.'
Chambers was starting to look awkward. 'Like I said,
I kind of think Michelle will work,' he replied. 'It feels
right.'
'But she's blonde,' Ellen pointed out.
Chambers looked away, clearly not wanting to argue
this out at a first meeting. Even so, something inside
Ellen was telling her that his mind was made up about
this and he wasn't going to budge. What was more, there
didn't seem much doubt, considering the silence from
that quarter, that Michael was going to back him. Her
fury was suddenly so great that it was like everything
inside her was gripped by it.
'Well,' she said, her heart pounding in her chest, 'I
guess everything's still up for discussion.' She looked at
her watch. 'I should be heading out of here now, if I want
to make it over to Richard's.' She looked at Chambers. 'I
expect Michael's already told you it'll be me who's
working on the script with you,' she said, 'so we should
set up a schedule of meetings. I'll have my assistant put
something together and call you.'
'Do you want to give me the address where I have to
go for Robbie?' Chambers reminded her. 'And
directions to your place so I can drop him off later. Will
someone be there?'
'Lucina, the housekeeper, will be back by then,' Ellen
answered, picking up a pen from the table and writing
everything he needed on a sheet of hotel notepaper.
'Where are you going to be this evening?' Michael
asked.
Not wanting to look at him, Ellen went into her purse
searching for her keys. 'I'm giving a talk to a
screenwriters' workshop,' she answered.
'Where?' Chambers asked.
'Santa Monica.'
He glanced at Michael, then back to Ellen. 'Can I
come?' he said.
They both looked at him in surprise.
He shrugged. 'This is my first attempt,' he reminded
them. 'I could pick up some useful hints.'
Michael nodded. 'Sounds like a good idea,' he said,
turning to Ellen.
Ellen still wouldn't look at him. 'You'd be welcome,'
she told Chambers. 'I'll come by for you around twenty
of eight. Meet me downstairs, we won't have a lot of
time to spare.'
As she got to her feet both men rose with her. 'It's OK,
I can see myself out,' she said, heading round the table
so she wouldn't have to walk past Michael. 'It was good
meeting you, Tom,' she said, shaking his hand. 'Thanks
for offering to go and get Robbie. I'll look forward to
seeing you later,' and without even a glance in Michael's
direction, she left.

It was almost midnight by the time Ellen finally returned
home, and though she had calmed down considerably,
she was still no closer to being talked round about
Michelle than when she'd walked out of the hotel. If
anything, she was even more set against it. And why the
hell shouldn't she be, when the idea had no merit
whatsoever, and when the role they were discussing
was absolutely vital to the story.
The house was in darkness as she drove in through the
gates and along the short floodlit drive to the garage. She
waited for the automatic door to open, then steered her
Pontiac in next to Michael's Cruiser. That reminded her,
she needed his car tomorrow to go pick Matty up from
the airport. Ordinarily the Pontiac would have done, but
Matty had called to say she'd been shopping, not only
for a few items of furniture which she was bringing on
the flight with her, but for a new man as well it seemed.
Whoever the man was, Ellen guessed she'd meet him
when she went to the airport tomorrow, which was a
shame, because she could really do with having Matty to
herself for a while. She needed someone to talk to,
someone to reassure her she wasn't going crazy, or being
unreasonable, or hurtling towards the edge of failure in
just about everything from motherhood to moguldom. It
was almost frightening the way her life had gone so crazy
lately. It was like being in a runaway car with no brakes
and an accelerator jammed to the floor. She barely had
time to make all her meetings now, never mind the
numerous lunches, cocktails and dinners that she and
Michael were constantly obliged to attend. And as for
getting her hair cut, or snatching a quick workout at the
gym, these luxuries were now such a thing of the past
that she was starting to despair of ever doing them again.
Much like her and Michael's sex life, for they were both
so busy now, and so tired by the time they eventually got
to bed, that apart from the few brief moments they were
stealing from the madness they were becoming more like
colleagues and less like lovers every day.

After checking on Robbie and Spot, she went to read
through the messages Michael had left on her desk.
Then, with a tight, angry face and flashing eyes she
pushed open the door and walked into the bedroom.
She'd already drawn breath to let rip when, seeing him
lying on the bed, the air suddenly went out of her and to
her unutterable frustration she started to laugh. Though
he was fast asleep, he'd obviously known he'd have to
do battle and had kitted himself out accordingly.
Robbie's toy sword was still grasped in his hand, the
shield was lying across his chest and the helmet had
slipped down over one eye. He looked so ridiculous that
he completely took the wind out of her sails.

Biting her lip and sticking her tongue in her cheek, she
struggled hard to control her laughter as his one visible
eye opened.


Ill
'I hate you,' she told him, stamping her foot and
hitting the doorframe.
'I thought you might,' he responded, tilting his helmet
back.
'For God's sake, just look at you!' she cried. 'How can
we have a sensible discussion while you're . ..'
'Sensible discussion?' he interrupted. 'Is that what
you're after? I must have got it wrong, because I was
sure when you left the hotel today that the next time I
saw you you were going to attack me. And I want you to
know, I've got my army right here as backup.' and
flipping aside the sheet he revealed a small battalion of
plastic soldiers.
'You're not funny,' she insisted, even though she was
laughing through her anger.
'No,' he said defeatedly, 'I'm just scared.'
Ellen rolled her eyes, turned away then looked at him
again. 'You should be,' she informed him, 'because I'm
seriously mad at you for what happened today.'
He watched her come towards him, then swiftly
blocked her with his sword and shield as she went to
pummel him with her fists. 'You idiot!' she choked, still
trying not to laugh. 'You're not getting round me this
way.'
'Unhand me, woman,' he cried, as she grabbed his
sword.
'Michael stop it!'
Suddenly he cast aside his sword and shield, seized
her in his arms and pulled her onto the bed.
'Ow, ow, ow!' she protested as he rolled her over on
the toy soldiers.
'I gave no order to attack,' he objected, glaring at the
soldiers, and with a single sweep of his hand he brushed
them to the floor. Then, gathering her tightly in his arms
again, he looked down into her eyes.
'I'm sorry,' he said.
She gazed up at him, then felt her eyes flutter closed as
his lips came gently down on hers. 'So how did it go with
Richard Conway earlier?' he asked afterwards.
She couldn't help but smile. 'Apparently he doesn't
even have a dog,' she answered. 'It was his managers,
just like we thought, trying to get every last dime. He
says we should go straight to him if there's any problem
like that in the future. So now you can tell me why you
got me to sort that ludicrous list out rather than take it on
yourself.'
'Because I had a feeling he'd be more impressed by
you than he would by me,' Michael answered. 'And it
seems I was right.'
'I'm not sure I like that tactic very much,' she
responded.
'I'm not happy about it myself, but if it works . ..'
She looked away for a moment, then returning her
eyes to his said, 'And what about this situation with
Michelle and Tom? What kind of tactic are you
employing there?'
'No tactic,' he said. 'And I should have warned you it
was coming?'
'So you did know?'
'Let's say I guessed. And I didn't say anything,
because I hoped I was wrong.'
'So why didn't you back me when I said you wanted
star names?'
Sighing, he let her go and rolled onto his back.
She propped herself up on an elbow and looked down
at him. 'Well?' she prompted.
His eyes returned to hers. 'After you'd gone we talked
about it - did he tell you that? You did see him this
evening, didn't you?'
She nodded. 'Michelle's name wasn't mentioned. So
what did you talk about?'
'Well, it seems he feels more comfortable with
Michelle getting inside Rachel's skin than he does a total
stranger.'
'But that's ridiculous!' Ellen snapped.
'Honey, neither of us has been through what he's been
through, and though it might not seem logical to us, to
him . . . Well, it's got to be different. It's the only thing
he's going to hold out for.'
'Are you kidding me? He's going to hold us to ransom
over this?'
Michael merely looked at her.
Ellen sat up and stared hard at the lit pool outside. Her
anger was returning fast and she wondered if it was fear
making her this mad, or jealousy. Or was it simply that
Michelle couldn't be more wrong for the part? It was
probably all three, but the only valid argument she
could make was the third.
She turned to look down at Michael. 'Do you think
she's right for the part?' she demanded.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 'I've got to
admit, she wouldn't have been my first choice,' he
answered, 'but if it's what Tom wants... Listen,' he said,
as she started to object. 'I know you don't want to hear
this, but whatever else she is, Michelle is a damned good
actress. OK, she might not look like Rachel, she might
not sound like her either, but she could bring more
passion and believability to that role than anyone else I
know. Not only because of her talent, but because her
own sympathies are so in accordance with Rachel's.'
'So what happened to the star name?' Ellen demanded
tightly.
'With Conway playing Tom, we don't necessarily
need a big name for Rachel,' he replied.
She looked past him to where the bedside lamp cast an
orangey glow over the silver-striped walls. It was true,
one star would be enough, and as that status had gone to
the part of Tom Chambers, there was no reason, other
than the fact that Chambers knew Michelle and felt
comfortable with her, why the part of Rachel shouldn't
go to Matty. 'And if I said I really didn't want Michelle
to play the part?' she said. 'Would you support me?'
Michael waited for her eyes to come back to his.
'We're in Tom's hands,' he answered.
Ellen got up from the bed, walked into the bathroom
and slammed the door. As she stripped off her clothes
she was seething with fury and, seeing Michael's things
placed neatly around his wash-basin, she swept them all
into the wastebin, marched to the chute and emptied
them into the trash. Then, taking her robe from where it
was hanging under his, she slipped it on and turned to
the mirror. As she began cleansing her face the door
opened and he stood watching her in the glass.
'Tell me,' she said bitterly, 'where will she be staying
when she comes here to film? With us?'
Michael looked at her, his expression starting to
harden.
'Ten days!' she seethed. 'I agreed to ten days, and a
further two weeks when we're on honeymoon. I'm not
having her here any longer than that. Do you hear me?
And if you're making the mistake of thinking that's me
agreeing to her playing the part just as long as we don't
have to put her up, then disabuse yourself now, because
I'm not agreeing at all. Not for one minute am I agreeing.'
Michael turned and walked away. A few minutes later
she followed him into the room and got into bed beside
him.
'You're jealous of a woman you've never even met,' he
told her harshly.
'And you're giving me good cause to be,' she
responded, turning her back.
Several minutes ticked by.
'And this isn't about jealousy,' she said, 'it's about
professionalism. And you're just not professional
enough to stand up for something you believe in.'
'You mean that you believe in.' he corrected. 'And
your beliefs are all to cock because you just can't see past
your own obsession with

Ellen swung round. 'There's nothing obsessed about
me!' she yelled.
'You can't accept that I love you and not her,' he yelled
back. 'But all right, if you want it spelt out, I don't have
a problem with her playing the part. Nor do I think she
should stay anywhere but here whenever she comes to
LA.'
Ellen stared at him furiously. 'I'm giving you fair
warning,' she said, 'I'm going to do everything I can to
persuade Tom Chambers to change his mind, but if I
don't succeed and this movie goes ahead with Michelle
in the lead, then I'm out of this house, because there's
just no way I'm going to live under the same roof as you,
Robbie and her.'
Chapter 7

The afternoon sun was blazing its might along the
southern California coast as the PAL flight carrying
Michelle finally came in to land. It had been a long and
uncomfortable journey, with little room to move in a
cabin that was packed to capacity, and crowded seats
that did their level best to deny any attempts at exit or
access. Still, it was behind her now, and the only thing
that interested her, as she cleared customs and wheeled
her luggage through to the arrivals hall, was that she
was going to see her darling, precious little boy for the
first time in more than eight months.
The crowd waiting to greet other passengers was
dense and noisy as she came through, and for a while
her view was blocked by the tightly packed bodies of a
slow-moving family in front. Her shoulder-length
blonde hair, which had been newly cut and styled just
before she left, caused her to stand out in the mainly
Asian crowd, just as her height enabled her to catch an
occasional glimpse up ahead. In the end, she and Robbie
found each other at the same moment, and as he
shrieked 'Mummy!' and came bounding towards her,
she abandoned her cart and ran towards him.
'Darling!' she cried, sweeping him up in her arms. 'Oh
my darling. I've missed you so much. Let me see you.
Oh, Robbie, you've grown so handsome and big. Can I
kiss you? You're not too grown-up to be kissed?' and she
laughed through her tears as he grabbed her round the
neck and pressed his lips hard against hers. 'Such
passion!' she spluttered. 'Oh God, I can't believe how
much I've missed you. Is Daddy here?'
'He's over there. And Tom. We all came to meet you
and Daddy said we can go for a McDonald's on the way
home if you're not too tired. You're not too tired, are
you, Mum?'
'No,' she laughed, brushing back his hair and gazing
adoringly into his face, 'I'm not too tired.'
'Any of those hugs going spare?' a voice behind her
enquired.
"Tom!' she cried, turning to greet him and almost
tripping over the luggage cart he had rescued. 'Oh God,
look at you! It's so wonderful to see you.'
'It's good to see you too,' he told her, embracing both
her and Robbie, while trying to keep hold of the cart.
'Daddy! Daddy!' Robbie shouted, wriggling from
Michelle's arms as Michael came towards them. 'Let me
have Spot, Daddy. Spot, come here boy. Mummy, this is
Spot,' he declared, scooping the shaggy little black dog
up in his arms and turning to show his mother.
'Oh, he's adorable Robbie,' Michelle laughed, taking
the dog and bringing his cheeky little face up to hers.
'But where are all his spots?'
'He doesn't have any,' Robbie responded indignantly.
'He doesn't have to have spots to be called Spot, does he,
Dad?'
'No,' Michael confirmed.
Michelle's lovely green eyes were shining with
laughter as she looked up at Michael.
'Hi,' he said, his tone and expression seeming to close
them off from the mayhem for a moment. 'How are you?'
'I'm fine,' she answered, and tucking Spot under one
arm, she walked into his arms.
'Mummy, you're squashing Spot!' Robbie objected.
'Yeah, don't squash the dog.' Tom joined in.
'Sorry.' Michelle laughed, handing the dog back to
Robbie. 'He's gorgeous, darling,' she said, 'and I'm
really looking forward to getting to know him better.'
'Oh, you will,' Michael assured her, disentangling the
lead and clipping it on Spot.
'No, Daddy, he's too little to walk,' Robbie protested.
'Someone might stand on him and kill him.'
'And that would never do,' Michael said, scooping up
both Robbie and Spot. 'Come on, let's get out of here,
we're causing a pileup.'
Robbie looked at Michelle. Grinning, she held out her
arms for him to come.
'You can carry Spot, Dad,' Robbie said, by way of
compensation, and dumping his cherished pet he all but
leapt into his mother's arms.
'I guess I get the luggage,' Tom remarked, as they
began heading for the door.
'You can have a Big Mac,' Robbie informed him.
'Mummy said she's not tired, so we can go for a
McDonald's. Mummy, you're sleeping in the next
bedroom to me and Spot and we helped make the bed
for you this morning. And do you know what, I helped
Ellen choose some nice soap for you and it's in the
bathroom next to my soap. I don't mind if you share my
bathroom.'
'You mean you've got a bathroom all to yourself?'
Michelle gasped.
'Yes. And a bedroom. And a playroom. And we've got
a swimming-pool too, haven't we Daddy? Daddy won't
let me go in unless he's there too, or unless Ellen's there,
but I can swim. I'm a good swimmer, aren't I Daddy?'
'I know you can swim, honey,' she told him. 'You
were swimming in Rio. Remember?'
He frowned, then laughed. 'Oh yes,' he said. 'Can I
press the button, please,' he asked as they came to the
crosswalk. After pushing the button he looked at his
mother, and with a sudden burst of euphoria he threw
his arms around her neck and squeezed her hard.
'Oh no, Daddy's on the phone again.' he complained,
rolling his eyes as Michael took out his cellphone and
started to dial.
Michelle and Chambers laughed as Michael tweaked
Robbie's nose and waited to make the connection.
'Line's busy,' he said.
'Where's Ellen?' Michelle asked, as they began crossing
over to the parking lot. 'I'm really looking forward to
meeting her. But I guess she's got a lot to do ...'
'She didn't want to come,' Robbie stated.
'Hey, that's not true,' Michael responded. 'She was
afraid she might be in the way, which I told her was
nonsense, but she had a meeting to go to anyway. She'll
be there when we get home. Now, what news on my
reprobate brother?'
'Oh, he sends everyone his love, especially you,' she
added, squeezing Robbie hard.
Michael smiled, then his eyes met Michelle's in a way
that left her wondering what he really thought of her relationship
with his younger brother. She didn't imagine
he was jealous, but was surprised to find herself wondering
if she wanted him to be. 'He would have loved to
come,' she said, 'but there's so much to do in those
refugee camps, and as we're going to be back here for the
wedding in a couple of months ...' Michael was walking
slightly ahead by now, so, not sure whether he'd heard
her, she glanced up at Tom and smiled as he winked.
'Are you sure it's OK, me staying at the house?' she
said, as Michael came to a stop at the car. 'I don't want to
be a nuisance.'
'It's perfectly OK,' Michael assured her. 'I just need to
let Ellen know that we're stopping off at McDonald's.'
A few minutes later, with the luggage stowed in the
trunk, Michelle, Spot and Robbie behind and Tom next
to him, Michael drove them out of the car park and tried
calling the house. Ellen picked up almost right away.
'Hello darling.' he said. 'Are you OK?'
'Fine,' she answered. 'Did Michelle arrive yet?'
'Yes, she's right here. We're in the car.'
'So you should be home in what, forty minutes?'
'Actually, we're going to be a bit longer than that,' he
said, glancing quickly over his shoulder as he changed
lanes to join Century. 'Robbie wants to go for
McDonald's, so as a treat
'Sounds like a good idea,' Ellen replied.
The flatness of her tone caused Michael's heart to sink.
'Why don't you come and join us?' he suggested.
'No. I don't much want my first meeting with Michelle
to be at a McDonald's,' she answered. 'I'll see you when
you get here,' and the line went dead.
Michael clicked off his end, and as he passed the
phone to Chambers his and Michelle's eyes met in the
rearview mirror. Though she said nothing, Michael
knew she had guessed more about that call than he
wanted her to.

After speaking to Michael Ellen walked back to the
kitchen and began packing away the groceries she had
picked up on her way home. It hadn't been easy, clearing
her calendar to allow time for shopping and cooking,
but, knowing how much it would mean to Michael, she
had gone to great lengths to manage it. She hadn't been
planning anything fancy, just a spaghetti bolognaise,
because it was one of Robbie's favourites, and some
fresh fruits and ice-cream for dessert, because coming
from one of the more deprived areas of the world she'd
thought Michelle might appreciate something wholesome
and healthy. Still, it could wait, and so too could
their dreaded first meeting, for there was no way in the
world she was just sitting around here waiting, when
she had a ton of work to get through at the office and
when there was every chance she'd work herself into a
royal rage if she did.
'It's not that I mind having my surprise totalled,' she
complained to Matty half an hour later, 'though I've got
to admit it did piss me off. I'd even bought French
champagne which I thought was a pretty generous
gesture, considering. No, what I really mind about is
how hard I'm trying to be adult and in-perspective
about this and how pathetically I'm failing. I mean, look
at me now. What purpose is this going to serve, me
coming here to you after storming out of an empty house
because they're cosying up like a happy little family
down at McDonald's, feeding French fries to Spot and
talking over old times and kidnaps with Tom? If I was
going to go anywhere, I could at least have gone to the
office. God knows, there's more than enough for me to
do there. In fact there's so much I'm almost glad
Michelle's here so she can help out with Robbie and give
me a chance to get back on top. Except what's needing
the most work right now is me and Michael, and just
how the hell am I supposed to get that back on track
when the very reason it went off in the first place is about
to take up residence under the same roof?'
'Here, drink this and calm down,' Matty commanded,
handing her a generous glass of chilled white wine and
steering her out onto the veranda of her luxurious
Beverly Hills apartment. The night lamps were glowing
in the scented semi-darkness and Matty's damp
swimsuit and a couple of towels were draped over the
backs of the expensive white-cane and blue-padded
chairs.
'Tell me, how are things going with Tom?' Matty said,
sinking into one of the sumptuous armchairs and
putting her feet on the coffee-table. 'Weren't you having
a session on the script with him yesterday?'
Ellen nodded as she swallowed a much-needed
mouthful of wine, then, letting her head fall back, she
gazed up at the luminous red sky and opaque crescent of
moon. 'And again this morning,' she said, picturing him
with Michael, Michelle and Robbie now and feeling a
pang of jealousy about that too. 'You know, so far
working with him on this script is a dream. He's so
receptive and quick-thinking and ... Oh, I don't know, I
just wish all writers were like him. He's so professional
and . . .' she laughed, 'I guess, funny. Honestly, you'd
never know it was his personal life we were discussing,
he's so objective about it, yet at the same time I can't help
thinking how difficult it must be for him reliving it all
like this. You know, he believes it was Rachel who saved
him from being murdered just before he left Colombia?
It was all to do with a young prostitute and some
flowers. Sure, it sounds crazy, but to hear him tell it,
well, believe me, it sounds more than plausible, it
sounds perfectly credible. He obviously loved her a hell
of a lot, and still feels the bond with her now, despite her
death. Don't you think that's romantic?'
Matty nodded. 'Mmm,' she said, 'and enviable, even
though she's dead. I mean, how many of us ever get to
love like that?'
Ellen smiled ruefully. 'A month ago I'd have said I
did,' she answered. 'Now, I'm not so sure.'
Matty turned to look at her. 'You don't mean that.' she
said. 'You're just mad at him, right?'
Ellen inhaled deeply. 'Yeah, I'm mad at him,' she
replied, 'and I don't guess I do mean it, but I sure wish I
knew how to deal with what's happening now. All
we've done these past two weeks is fight or avoid each
other. It's terrible, but I can't make up with him and go
on like everything's OK when the truth is neither of us is
backing down over Michelle.'
'Are we talking about Michelle as mother, ex
girlfriend or Rachel Carmedi?' Matty asked, her fine,
dark features looking softer and more appealing than
ever in the gently flickering candlelight.
'I guess all three,' Ellen sighed. 'But tell me, you've
seen the pictures of her, you've seen the videos... Forget
for a moment that we want you to play the part, and just
answer me this, is Michelle wrong for it or is it just that I
want her to be wrong?'
Matty took some time to consider the question before
saying, 'I think it's a bit of both. She's a good actress and
with some work on the accent she could probably play
the part well.'
'But so could you, better even than she could and
you're already a lot closer to the accent than she is. God,
you even look like Rachel. I've got to introduce you to
Tom. It's the only way I'm going to get through to him
on this.'
'Have you talked to him about it all?' Matty asked.
Ellen shook her head. 'Not really. He knows I'm not
happy about Michelle playing the part, but he probably
thinks it's because I don't want her around Michael and
Robbie for so long. Which he's not wrong about, because
believe you me, the prospect of her being here for the
next ten days is bad enough, three months or more . . .'
She shuddered and took another sip of wine.
'I was thinking,' Matty said, 'if I really do look like
Rachel, it could be a tough call for Tom, you know,
having to see someone who looks like her stepping into
her shoes and bringing it all back to life.'
Ellen stared at her with wide, disbelieving eyes.
'Matty, don't do this to me.' she said. 'For God's sake I
need someone to back me on this, and if I can't depend
on you, then who the hell can I?'
'It was just a thought,' Matty said. 'But I think it's one
you should consider.'
'What is it, do you suddenly not want the part?' Ellen
demanded.
'Sure I want the part. Under any other circumstances
I'd kill for it, but we've got to see things from Tom's
perspective too, and after all, he's the one who owns the
rights to it. It's his story every bit as much as it's
Rachel's. I just think that if we're really going to sell him
on me, then a better way to play it would be to let him
come up with the idea on his own. Not force it down his
throat.'
'And how are we going to do that now that Michelle's
here and ready to sign a contract the minute it's drawn
up?'
'Is it drawn up?' Matty asked.
Ellen's heart tightened. 'Not that I know of,' she
answered. 'But no, Michael wouldn't do that to me. Just
no way would he go behind my back and sign her up
without telling me first. Note I say telling, not
discussing, because we're a long way past the stage of
debating anything where Michelle is concerned now. He
tells me and I either like it or I lump it.'
'Why don't we take this gently?' Matty suggested. 'I
mean, we don't want to frighten Tom off by introducing
me like I was some kind of ghost of kidnaps past, do we?
So we just bring me in as your cousin, who also happens
to be an actress.'
Ellen laughed. 'Michael will see straight through it,'
she said. 'But what the hell? You're right. I should at
least get you two to meet, and what better time than the
present? What are you doing tonight? Which reminds
me, what happened to the camera operator you met in
Denver? I thought he was staying here?'
'He went back to Denver on Tuesday for a couple of
days reshoot. It didn't include me, but it's over anyway.
You know how these things always seem like a good
idea on location and turn out to be about as appealing as
gout when you get home.'
Ellen smiled in sympathy. 'So you're free tonight?' she
said. 'Can you come up to the house with me? Be there
when they all get back?' She looked at her watch.
'They'll probably beat us to it now, but who cares? Why
shouldn't I have someone from my camp around, God
knows he's got enough in his.'
'You're making this sound like a war,' Matty
remarked.
Ellen looked at her, slightly shaken by that, then
picking up her keys she said, 'If it is, then it's of his
making.'

Michael's car was outside the garage and the lights were
on in the house as Ellen drove through the gates and
came to a stop next to the Cruiser. 'I'm doing this all
wrong,' she declared to Matty. 'I shouldn't have walked
out. I should have just called you and got you to come
over.'
'But you didn't,' Matty stated, 'so quit trying to deal with what's already done, and figure out how you're
going to make this work to your advantage.'
Ellen glanced at her sharply. 'I've got about thirty
seconds in which to do that,' she remarked, 'so unless
you've got any suggestions
'As a matter of fact I do. Get rid of that anger and stop
turning yourself into the victim here. No-one's trying to
shut you out of this, you're doing it to yourself. So
lighten up. Smile. Remember, he chose you, not her, and
you can afford to be generous in your victory.'
Despite herself Ellen laughed. 'He's going to be pretty
mad that I wasn't here when they got back.' she said.
'And seeing you is going to tell him exactly where I've
been and why ...'
'Ellen shut up and get out of the car,' Matty
commanded.
Ellen did as she was told, and walked in silence up to
the closed front door. Slipping her key in the lock she
glanced at Matty, then pushed the door open and
walked into the sitting-room.
'Ah, there you are,' Michael said, getting up from the
sofa. 'I was starting to worry. You didn't take your
phone. Oh, hi, Matty. How are you?'
Ellen searched his expression for any signs of
annoyance, but there appeared only a genuine pleasure
to see Matty, and why not, they'd always got along
perfectly well.
'Matty! Matty!' Robbie cried, suddenly bursting in
through another door and racing across the room.
'Hey big guy!' Matty laughed, swinging him up in her
arms. 'How ya doing?'
'My mummy's here,' he told her excitedly. 'She came
all the way from ... from ... an aeroplane, and she's got
the room next to mine and we're going to the movies
tomorrow after school and then we're going to Magic
Mountain the next day ...'
'Hang on, calm down,' Michael chided, slipping an
arm around Ellen. 'Sorry about the McDonald's,' he
murmured in her ear. 'There wasn't a way out of it.'
'It's OK.' she answered, and felt her heart starting to
melt as his lips came gently down on hers in the first kiss
they had shared in over a week.
'Mummy!' Robbie suddenly cried, and leaping from
Matty's arms he raced across the room to grab Michelle's
hand. 'This is my mummy,' he told Matty proudly.
'She's staying here with us for ten whole days.'
Ellen couldn't not be aware of the way Robbie was
shutting her out, and saw the slight confusion on
Michelle's beautiful face as she looked from the woman
Robbie was taking her to, to the woman Michael's arm
was around.
'Hi, I'm Matty,' Matty said, holding out her hand. 'I'm
Ellen's cousin.'
'I'm pleased to meet you, Matty,' Michelle smiled, and
Ellen felt her throat tighten at the genuine warmth in her
sparkling green eyes. This was a woman it was going to
be shaming to dislike.
'And this is Ellen,' Michael said, keeping his arm
around her as Michelle turned to them.
'Ellen. I've been so looking forward to meeting you,'
Michelle said, taking her into a gentle embrace. She
laughed self-consciously. 'I've heard so much about you
I feel I already know you. Thank you for letting me stay
in your home.'
'You're welcome,' Ellen smiled, trying not to bristle at
the way Michelle's greeting had seemed almost to
reverse their roles of guest and hostess. 'I'm sorry I
wasn't here when you arrived. I had to go back to the
office for something, then I went over to pick up Matty
so she could join us for dinner.'
'We don't need dinner we had McDonald's,' Robbie
protested.
'Hey!' Michael said sharply. 'Less of that attitude,
thank you. And just because you had McDonald's doesn't
mean the rest of us wouldn't prefer something else.'
Ellen smiled past the ache in her heart. 'Did you have
a good journey?' she asked Michelle.
Michelle laughed. 'It was hell,' she answered, 'but
worth it to see this one.'
Ellen's smile remained in place as she looked down at
Robbie, then over to Tom who was standing in front of
one of the sofas watching them all. As their eyes met
Ellen got the uncomfortable impression that he knew
exactly how difficult she was finding this.
'Hello Tom,' she said, going to greet him. 'We're all
ignoring you. Do you have a drink?'
'I do. How about you? Would it be presumptuous of
me to go fix you one?'
'Not at all,' she assured him. 'But say hi to Matty first,
then all the introductions'll be over.'
Unable to stop herself Ellen searched his face as he
shook hands with Matty, wanting to see if there was any
flicker of recognition, or perhaps any other kind of
interest that went beyond mere politeness. There was
nothing she could detect, but from the few occasions she
had met Chambers she had already learned how very
skilled he was at giving nothing away unless he wanted
to.
As she turned back she briefly caught Michael's eye
and knew instantly that he had recognized her purpose
in introducing Matty and Tom. From the way his
eyebrow went up she realized that far from being angry,
he was much closer to being sad that she was still
fighting the inevitable.
'What are you having, Matty?' Tom said, as they all
moved towards the sofas.
'A Chardonnay for me.' she answered.
'And I guess yours is the same?' he said to Ellen.
She smiled and sat down next to Michael as Michelle
and Robbie sank down beside Matty on the opposite
sofa.
'You must tell us all about Pakistan and your work
there,' Ellen said to Michelle.
Michelle gave a mock frown and waved a dismissive
hand. 'Believe me, it's too depressing a subject for
tonight,' she said. 'Tell me about my little tearaway here
instead. How's he doing at school? Top of the class I
hope,' she added, digging him playfully in the ribs.
'I got a commendation last week!' he boasted. 'That's
my second.'
'And what about all your black marks for talking too
much?' Michael enquired.
'I only got one, and that was because Andrew kept
talking to me.'
As Tom returned with the drinks and went to sit in the
large two-seater armchair between the two sofas, Ellen
watched and listened to the banter and tried not to be
hurt by the way both Michael and Michelle seemed to
have forgotten any part she might have played in
helping to settle their son into his new school and
country, never mind all the running around she had
done for him since. It wasn't so much thanks that she
wanted, but some kind of recognition would have been
nice, or perhaps just a glance from Robbie that held some
of the affection she had always been treated to before.
But since she'd walked in the door he hadn't looked at
her once and no-one, not even Michael, seemed to have
noticed.
As the laughter and teasing grew louder and more
animated she watched Michelle and found herself
wondering how Michael had ever been able to leave her.
With her gorgeously sleek blonde hair and flawless
complexion, she was one of the most beautiful women
Ellen had ever met, and her laughter was so natural and
warming that even Ellen found herself smiling in
response.
Yet all the time she was hating her more and more for
the way she was so supremely British and shared so
much background with Michael. It was as though they
were all part of another world and though Tom and
Matty seemed to be having no problem joining in, for
Ellen it was impossible even to step up to the threshold.
She had no idea what Michael's feelings were for
Michelle now, but it was plain to see that there was still
some kind of bond between them.
In the end Ellen got to her feet. 'I guess I should go fix
some dinner,' she said. 'Is anyone else interested, or is it
just me and Matty?'
'What are you offering?' Michael asked, rolling on to
his back and grunting as Robbie jumped on his chest.
She shrugged. 'There's plenty in the freezer, whatever
you like,' she answered. 'Chicken, pasta, fish. The
question really is, are you full after the McDonald's, or
would you like something else?'
'I'll have whatever you're making,' he said, trying to
fend off Robbie's monster.
'Me too,' Tom added.
Ellen looked at Michelle.
'Nothing for me,' Michelle laughed. 'But I'll come and
give you a hand if you like.'
'No, really,' Ellen replied. 'Stay with Robbie.' She
looked at her watch. It was past his bedtime and he had
school in the morning, but did she dare say so and risk
being overruled by one of his parents?
As though picking up on her thoughts Robbie
suddenly said, 'I want Mummy to take me to school in
the morning.'
Michelle grinned and leaned over to pinch his cheeks.
'I don't have a car, silly,' she reminded him.
'You can use Daddy's, can't she, Daddy?' he responded.
Michael shrugged. 'I guess so,' he answered. 'I'll go to
the office with Ellen and get cabs if I need to after that.
Yeah, sure, you can use mine,' he told Michelle.
The words were out before Ellen could stop them.
'Well, if you've got a car, Michelle, perhaps you
wouldn't mind taking Robbie to the dentist tomorrow as
well. He's got an appointment at eleven.'
'I don't want to go to the dentist!' Robbie protested. 'I
hate the dentist.'
'Don't be difficult,' Michelle reprimanded. She looked
up at Ellen. 'I'm afraid I promised to check in with the
Christian Children people in the morning,' she said. 'I
can probably drop him off at school though.'
Ellen could feel the colour rising in her cheeks as she
nodded. 'OK,' she said. 'I'll be the unpopular one and do
the dentist.'
Almost as soon as the kitchen door closed behind her
Michael came in after her. 'Was that really necessary?' he
demanded. 'She didn't know Robbie had to go to the
dentist or I'm sure she'd have arranged things so she
could take him.'
'Yeah, I'm sure you're right,' Ellen responded, slamming
the refrigerator door as she carried the overflowing
salad tray to a nearby counter. 'So what do you
want me to do? Apologize?'
'It would do for a start,' he bit back. 'And then perhaps
you could take a decision to make our lives tolerable for
the next ten days, instead of going the route you seem to
be set on right now.'
Ellen swung round with the chopping knife. 'She's
here, isn't she?' she seethed. 'You got what you wanted,
so get off my case. Or maybe you'd like to take Robbie to
the dentist tomorrow.'
'What is all this about the dentist?' he snapped.
'What's the big deal? You've always taken him before.
Or do you have more important things to do now you're
working on this script?'
'Nothing's more important than that child, but I'm the
only one who seems to think so,' she spat. 'Because I'm
the only one who ever makes any time to take him where
he's got to be, or go see his teachers, or check out his
friends. When was the last time you put yourself out to
do something for your son, except take him to the airport
to meet his mother?'
'If it's too much for you, Ellen, we can make other
arrangements,' he said darkly.
She stared at him, her face turning ashen with shock as
the meaning of his words reached her. 'Then maybe
you'd like to do just that,' she said tightly, and dropping
the knife she turned to walk out.
'Stop!' he said, spinning her round. 'I'm sorry, that
wasn't called for. It wasn't what I meant.'
'Then what did you mean?' she challenged, her face
still taut with hurt and anger.
'I don't know,' he answered. 'I guess it just came out
in the heat of the moment. It's not the way I feel. It's not
what I want to happen. But we've got to stop this
fighting. It's been like this for weeks now, and I love you
too much to want it to go on.'
She looked away, not ready to forgive him yet, but not
wanting to continue the fight either. 'Robbie should be
in bed,' she said.
'Do you want to take him and I'll do what needs doing
here?'
She shook her head. 'He doesn't want me, he wants
his mother,' she said, with an edge to her voice that she
wished wasn't there.
'Oh God,' Michael groaned, pulling her into his arms.
'I see what this is all about now. He loves you too, honey.
Just give him some space, OK? The excitement'll soon
wear off and then things will return to normal.'
She nodded and pulled back to wipe the tears from
her eyes. 'She's much more beautiful than I realized,' she
said.
He smiled. 'Have you looked in the mirror lately?' he
asked. Then, tilting her face up to his, he said, 'You
know, this would all be so much easier on you if you
could see your way to making friends with her. And
believe me, you've got nothing to be afraid of, not when
I love you as much as I do.'
'I just hope to God that doesn't change,' she
whispered.
Chapter 8

All six of the McCann Paull agents were gathered
around the conference table with World Wide UK's
accountants and business managers. Sandy Paull,
dressed entirely in black, was in the chair. Though most
of the south wall, which ran alongside the table, was
taken up by windows that offered great views of the
river Thames and Battersea beyond, the rest of the walls
were covered in posters, photographs, captions,
schedules, and a hundred other useful or commemorative
items that World Wide's transient staff had
collected since the company's inception.
The meeting presently under way was one of the
regular Monday sessions that brought the two companies
together either to discuss projects in progress, or
to put forward new ideas and scripts that showed
potential for being packaged by McCanns and produced
by World Wide.
'OK,' she said, as Ginger Coulton, one of the World
Wide accountants, finished her report, 'to summarize:
the budget reports and early returns are looking good
and we're still being judged a good risk by potential
investors.' She smiled. 'Seems that right now everyone
wants to throw money our way, so it shouldn't be too
long before we can launch our own airline.'
Everyone laughed and Sandy cocked an eyebrow, an
indication the jest might not be so idle. She glanced over
at Stacy, her assistant, who was taking down the
minutes. 'I'm going to spell this out,' she said, 'because I
don't think we've got any one document that encapsulates
everything that World Wide and McCann Paull
are into right now. So for those of you who know all this
I'm sorry, but I think we should have something down
in writing, if only for easy reference.' She put aside the
finance reports and turned to a couple of pages of
handwritten notes.
It took a while to go through the many projects that
were in various stages of development, and to make all
the changes that had occurred during the past week, but
the discussion was as lively as it was worthwhile for all
the discrepancies it uncovered.
'OK, just a couple of words on Rachel's Story,' she
said, glancing at her watch and starting to wrap the
meeting up. 'Things are starting to move ahead pretty
fast in LA, so I'll be making the movie a priority from
now on. Between ourselves, Michael informed me
when we last spoke that he's going to have difficulty
meeting the payroll next month, so the need to get
some really big interest going is becoming vital. That's
not to say he doesn't have the backers over there,
because he does, it's just that the money is taking some
time to drop, and naturally it's affecting the cash flow.
From what we've managed to pull together so far we
can transfer three million sterling by the end of next
week, which is really going to help him out, but, like I
said, it's important now that we get as much investment
in as we can. So, if anyone's got any other
possible backers they can put me on to, please let me
know.' Once again she looked at her watch. 'OK, I don't
have anything else here that needs immediate attention,'
she said, 'and as I have a funeral to go to at one
I'd like to bring us to a close. Anyone else got anything
to say?'
Her eyes moved to World Wide's business managers,
who were discussing something quietly between themselves.
'Marilyn,
Clive?' she prompted.
They looked up. 'We just need to check that the three
million from Deightons is going to be in on time to
transfer next week,' Marilyn told her.
Sandy felt her mouth turning dry. 'I didn't realize it
wasn't already here.' she said, trying to keep the
irritation from her voice. 'When I last spoke to Rodney
Parker-King he assured me there would be no problem.'
'I don't think there is,' Marilyn assured her. 'We just
need to make sure the transfer is effected right away.'
'Well, I need an answer by the end of the day,' Sandy
said. 'Michael's flying in tomorrow, and I want to be able
to tell him that the immediate panic is over. For those of
you who didn't know, his mother's had a fall... It's OK,
apparently nothing to get worked up about,' she added
swiftly, as all the agents appeared about to ask - everyone
was extremely fond of Clodagh, with her eccentric
Irish charm, and the added virtue of being something of
a surrogate mother to them all.
'I went to see her last night,' Zelda informed them.
'She's just a bit shaken up. Nothing broken.'
'Is she in hospital?' Janey asked.
'She's going home this afternoon,' Zelda answered.
'You know Clodagh, hates all the fuss but would be
furious if it didn't happen.'
'Will you get a chance to see Michael before you go up
to Scotland?' Sandy asked her.
'We'll cross paths at Heathrow for about an hour.'
Zelda chuckled. 'Did he speak to you about Vic
Warren?'
Sandy nodded. 'I'm waiting for Vic to call me back,'
she said. 'He's still shooting in Paris, but he's hoping to
get over while Michael's here.'
'How long's he staying?' Craig asked.
'Only a few days,' Sandy answered. 'He'll be at his
sister's so he can see plenty of Clodagh and her
grandchildren. If Vic can't get over to London, then he's
thinking of going to Paris for the day before flying back
to LA.' She looked at her watch. 'Oh God, look at the
time. I haven't even booked a cab yet. Stacy, can you ...'
'Where's the funeral?' Craig interrupted.
'Mortlake,' Sandy answered.
'Then I'll drive you there. I'm having lunch with Guy
Foster at Teddington Studios.'
Ten minutes later they were pulling out of the
underground car park and heading towards the Kings
Road. Sandy was talking to Stacy on her mobile phone,
while Craig tuned into the radio news.
'I take it it's Maurice's funeral,' he said, when Sandy
finally clicked off.
She nodded and turned to gaze at the passing shops
and pubs. 'I'm going to miss him,' she said. 'More than
I ever missed my own father, wherever he might be
now.'
Craig glanced at her and started to slow for a red light.
'Do you ever think about looking for him?' he said.
Sandy's laugh was more of a scoff. 'What, so's he can
scrounge off me too, the way the rest of them do?' she
said, not prepared to admit, even to Craig, that her
father was in prison. 'No, I was just thinking, not having
Maurice to turn to is going to be a bit like trying to swim
the Channel with no backup boat. I might drown.'
Craig looked at her in surprise. 'It's not like you to
doubt yourself,' he commented.
Sandy laughed. 'I doubt myself all the time,' she told
him, 'I just try not to show it.' She allowed a few seconds
to pass, then said, 'Promise not to tell anyone, but I'm
nervous about seeing Michael tomorrow.'
Craig frowned. 'For any reason?' he asked. 'I mean,
you're not normally - are you?'
'A bit. But more today. I suppose because Maurice has
gone and I'm feeling much more vulnerable without
him than I'd ever imagined I would. You know, just in
case anything goes wrong,'
Craig was incredulous. 'What on earth can go wrong?'
he cried. 'You said it yourself at the meeting just now,
things couldn't be going better, and since Michael's got
the best part of everything he owns invested in World
Wide, including his share of McCann Paull, he's likely to
start offering you obeisance when he finds out what you
managed to get from Deightons. So I can't see what
you've got to feel nervous about. Besides, you don't
know what Maurice might have left you in his will.'
'Nothing,' Sandy informed him. 'We talked about it
before he died. He gave me enough in his lifetime and I
truly didn't want to spend the next however many years
fighting it out in the courts with his children. So we
agreed. He gave me the apartment and my success. I did
very well.'
'Do his family know you're going to be at the funeral?'
Craig asked.
She shook her head. 'I'll just do the movie-star bit, you
know, low-profile background, soak up all the scorn,
lower my hat brim, look tragic, then leave the way I
came-alone.'
Craig was grinning, but when he looked at her he was
concerned to see that she didn't seem to be joking. For a
moment her eyes met his, and there was still no smile
when she looked away.
'Are you all right?' he said, speeding up to overtake a
bus. 'Maybe this has hit you harder than I realized.'
'I think it has,' she said, swallowing hard.
'Listen, if you want me to come in with you,' he said,
'I can always call Guy and reschedule.'
'No, it's OK. I'm just feeling sorry for myself. I'll get
over it.'
They drove on in silence, passing the brewery in
Chiswick where roadworks held them up for a while,
then turning at the Hogarth Roundabout towards
Mortlake. It was unlike Sandy to be depressed, or quiet,
and Craig wasn't entirely sure how to handle it.
'When are you actually seeing Michael?' he asked, for
want of anything else to say.
Sandy felt her heart contract. 'Tomorrow night,' she
answered. 'We're having dinner.' She began to
rummage in her bag and said something Craig didn't
catch.
'Sorry?' he said.
'I said, it'll be the first time I've been on a date since I
left the escort business.'
To his dismay Craig was once again stuck for words,
since he didn't imagine for one minute that Michael was
viewing tomorrow night as a date.
After a while Sandy gave a dry, empty laugh. 'I don't
suppose you're the person to ask if there's something
wrong with me,' she said. 'Anyway, there must be if
nobody's asked me out in all this time. Not that there's
been anyone I've particularly fancied, but well, you
know . . .' She glanced at him, then looked out at the
barren trees and flat, colourless acres that stretched
south of Chiswick. 'It's a horrible feeling finding out that
you can't get a date the way everyone else gets one. You
know, the normal route of someone asking you out
because they want to get to know you better. Or even
because they want to screw you. Seems the only way I
can get someone is to be paid for it. Like a whore. Well,
that's what I was, I suppose. At least sometimes. I didn't
always sleep with them.' She took a breath. 'Michael's
the only man I've slept with since coming to London
who I didn't meet through the escort business.'
'You're always working, that's why you never meet
anyone,' Craig insisted.
A few minutes ticked by.
'I've tried to get over him,' Sandy said, her eyes still averted. 'But what do you do when in your heart you
just know someone is right for you? I mean, I can't help
feeling that way, can I? It's not something I asked for, it
just happened. And it certainly doesn't make me happy, especially not when he's over there in LA with another woman who he's planning to marry in a couple of
months. Things are better between us now, though. We get on well together. I think he actually likes me, which
is a definite improvement on the way he felt when he
fired me.' She turned to Craig as he stopped at a pedestrian crossing. 'What would you do if you were me?'
'In what way?' he asked awkwardly.
Sandy turned away and sighed. 'Never mind,' she said.
Neither of them spoke again until they were pulling up outside the cemetery.
'Are you OK for getting back?' Craig asked.
'Stacy's already booked me a cab,' she answered, flicking up the sun-visor after checking her makeup.
She smiled briefly. 'Sorry if I burdened you with my problems.'
'No burden,' he said. 'We're friends. It's just
sometimes I don't know if I'm the right one to advise
you.'
'Where Michael's concerned I don't think anyone can,'
she confessed. 'I mean, it's not something I understand
myself, the way I feel about him, so how can I expect
anyone else to?'
Craig looked at her and thought how young and
sometimes painfully naive she still was, despite her
success. She had so many qualities, and leadership was
definitely amongst them, yet where Michael was
concerned she was like a whole other person.
Seeing her bite her lip and realizing it was probably
nerves about going to this funeral, he reached out for her
hand and gave it a squeeze. He could only admire her
for the courage it was taking to go in there now, and in
his heart he felt the ache of her loneliness. With Maurice
dying and Michael about to get married, he could easily
imagine how bewildered and at sea she was feeling,
probably even more than she realized.
'Are you sure you don't want me to come in with
you?' he said.
She nodded. 'Sure. But thanks for offering.'
He tightened his hold on her hand. 'I'm going to be
honest with you,' he said gently. 'Aside from the work
issue, I think another reason you never get asked out on
a date is that you just don't give any other man a chance.'
She turned to look at him, an amused, though slightly
sad expression in her turquoise eyes. 'Is there any other
man?' she said, and with a quick smile that only
suggested she might be joking, she opened the door and
got out.

Ellen ran into her office, yelled out 'OK,' and snatched
up the phone as Maggie put the call through. 'Matty, hi,
at last,' she cried, dumping her briefcase and shrugging
off her jacket. 'Sorry I didn't get back to you before, but
it's so crazy here, and now with Michael flying off to
England . .. Anyway, how are you? How did it go with
Tom when he drove you home the other night?'
'Well, we talked about you, and then about you, and
then some more about you,' Matty answered.
'What do you mean?' Ellen said, stopping what she
was doing.
'Oh come on,' Matty laughed, 'you've got to have
noticed, the man doesn't have eyes for anyone else. Oh,
he's polite enough, but it's pretty plain he'd rather be
talking to you, and if he can't talk to you, seems he's just
as happy talking about you.'
'Matty, you're completely wrong,' Ellen informed her,
going to the computer screen and calling up her
messages. 'The only reason he talked to you about me
was that I'm all you've got in common right now. Didn't
you bring up about the script?'
'Sure, and you're doing a great job, he tells me. He
really admires how professional and insightful you are and thinks, when the time comes, you should get first billing on the writer's credit. Of course, that's not all he
wants to offer you, but we didn't get that far. Now answer me this, how the hell do you stand to be alone
with him, in the same room, and keep your hands off him? He's so damned gorgeous.'
Ellen was laughing. 'He and Michael are good friends,' she reminded her cousin. 'And whereas I grant you Tom is an extremely attractive man, I happen to be very much in love with Michael. Hang on.' She put a hand over the mouthpiece and spoke quickly to Maggie who'd just come in the door. 'Get the proofs over to the Four Seasons for Tom to see,' she said, 'and then courier
a set over to England for Michael. Are they any good?'
she added, as Maggie dropped a large package on the corner of her desk.
'Haven't seen them.' she answered. 'The messenger
just brought them in. Ted Forgon's in his office. Said he'd like to see you if you've got a moment to pop in.'
Ellen looked at her watch. 'I'll try,' she said. 'Matty,
you still there?'
'Still here. So when's Michael back?'
'Friday. Great timing on Clodagh's part to go and fall over now. I mean, this isn't exactly my idea of fun being left alone with Michelle and Robbie. Tom joined us for dinner last night, so we reminisced about Rio and Sarajevo, at least they did and I listened. Then we talked about Pakistan and the refugee camps and all the problems the Afghan women and children are facing there right now. You can imagine how much I had to contribute to that. Then we caught up with all the gossip
on their fellow let's-risk-our-lives-to-do-good-ers. That was particularly fascinating, as I just love hearing all about people I've never even met and am never likely to. In the end I went to bed and left them to it. So let me put
you right about something, Matty, if Tom's got a thing for anyone round here, it's very definitely Michelle.'
'What about Michael's brother? Where's he while all this is going on?' Matty wanted to know. 'Aren't he and Michelle supposed to be an item?'
'Cavan? He's still in Pakistan. I expect Michael'll have to rush off to rescue him from a guerilla kidnapping or
political imprisonment any time now. In fact, my money's on the week of the wedding, what say you?'
'Boy, you do sound stressed,' Matty remarked. 'What are you doing for lunch? My treat.'
'Matty, I'd spring for champagne cocktails and three courses at the Ivy right now, given half a chance. Instead, I've just sent Olivia to get me a chicken burrito which I know is disgusting, but I feel like indulging myself even though I won't have time to eat it before I go pick up Robbie to take him to the dentist. And does any kid stay in school for an entire day any more, is what I
want to know?'
'I thought the dentist was yesterday?'
'So did I. I got it wrong. Yesterday was tetanus and
whooping-cough shots. Today is the dentist. And Michelle can't take him, because she's got an important lunch with the charity officials, then she's got to go shopping to buy herself something to wear for the big night. Meanwhile, Tom is helping her work on her speech, so I get an extra couple of hours back in my schedule because he can't see me until Michelle's speech is done and delivered. What's more, in Michael's absence, Tom will be escorting her to the charity gala on Thursday night while I stay at home and babysit Robbie, because it's Lucina's night off. I didn't actually know that Michael was supposed to be escorting her, that was obviously something he forgot to mention. Hang on, Maggie's back.'
'Mark Gladley's on the line,' Maggie told her, 'he said
he can reschedule the screening for Tuesday week if that
suits you better. He needs an answer now though.'
'Well?' Ellen said. 'Does it suit me better?'
'It could, but I'll need to check with Ken at Glitz and
Glamour.' she said, referring to the company that was
organizing the wedding. 'And I need the diary of your
dress fittings.'
'It's right here,' Ellen said, delving into her briefcase
and bringing out an untidy stack of notes.
'And Michelle just called,' Maggie continued. 'She
said to let you know that she's sent flowers to Michael's
mother on your behalf, just in case you'd forgotten.'
Ellen's eyes widened with amazement. Outrage was a
beat behind it.
Maggie winced. 'She also said, as she doesn't know
LA very well she'd really appreciate some company
when she goes shopping this afternoon, if you can make
it. I said you'd call her back.'
Ellen looked about to explode. 'What is it with that
woman?' she seethed. 'Call her back and tell her she's
got more cheek than a Sumo's backside, and enough
goddamned people running around after her, so the hell
does she get me too. And while you're at it, ask her if she understands that other people have schedules. Or is it
that hers is so full up with worthy causes that no-one
else's counts?'
'What about the flowers?' Matty said down the phone.
'You're surely not letting her get away with that?'
'Like hell I am!' Ellen raged. 'Maggie, find out which
florist she used, get on to them and cancel the flowers
she sent for me. Tell her I organized mine and Michael's
when I took Michael to the airport.'
'Did you?' Matty asked.
'No, but she doesn't need to know that,' Ellen
retorted. 'I'll just remind Michael to do it while he's in
London. With any luck he'll manage it before Michelle's
get there.'
'Anything else?' Maggie enquired.
'No,' Ellen snapped.
Maggie exited quickly, leaving Ellen to wonder
exactly what she would say to Michelle on the phone, though not really caring. 'Do you see what I have to put
up with?' she said to Matty. 'Now tell me I'm not
overreacting here, the way Michael thinks I am. I mean,
would you stand for this kind of shit?'
'Not a chance,' Matty assured her. 'But I'm not about
to become Michael's wife and Robbie's stepmother, so
you're going to have to find some way of dealing with
her. Which reminds me, is everything OK between you
and Robbie? He seemed kind of distant the other night.'
'With me, not you,' Ellen pointed out and sighed. 'I
guess it's kind of tough having me and his mother under
the same roof, and his mother is a novelty these days,
whereas I'm just the one who reminds him to brush his
teeth and forgets to pack his favourite cookies for lunch.
The latest, this morning, is that he doesn't want me and
Michael to get married. I tell you, if she weren't so
goddamned holy and decent, I'd swear Michelle had put
him up to it, but even I, who would like to see the
woman on the fastest jet plane out of here, find it hard to
suspect her of something like that.'
'What did you say to Robbie?' Matty asked.
'What could I say? I ignored it. It was probably the
wrong thing to do, but we were right outside the school
gates and I was already late for a nine o'clock with the
site managers at Paramount.'
'How's that going?'
'OK. We could be moving the production offices over
there some time in the next couple of weeks.'
'What about you and Michael?'
'We're staying here. Listen, I've got to go. I daren't be
late for Robbie again, and Ted Forgon's just asked me to
pop in and see him.'
'How is the old goat?' Matty enquired.
'Getting more active now that the statute of
limitations has started its countdown,' Ellen answered.
'Oh my God! I've just had a brilliant idea. Maybe I could
get him on my side over the casting of Rachel. Michael
might be running the show, but Ted's the majority
shareholder, he's going to want an executive credit, and
maybe even an executive input... I need to think about
this, I'll get back to you.'
An hour later, having performing some excellent
groundwork on Ted Forgon's ego ready for when she
might need it, Ellen was leading Robbie across the
schoolyard towards the car. All the other kids were back
in class, ready for the afternoon session, and she was
wondering if she could somehow work it for her and
Robbie to take the rest of the day off and spend some
time together. But with having to cover for Michael, as
well as keeping up with her own hectic commitments,
she was insane even to think it, for she didn't even have
time to be here now, much less to start treading the
delicate path it would take to deal with Robbie.
'Honey, don't scuff your shoes,' she said, as he
dragged his feet round to the passenger side of the car.
Ignoring her he carried on scuffing, then flung his
school bag rudely into the back before climbing in after
it.
'You going to get on your booster seat?' she asked.
'Don't want to,' he replied.
'You're not going to be able to see where we're going,'
she reminded him.
He stayed silent.
'OK, then put your seat-belt on,' she said.
He didn't move.
Leaning in, Ellen took the seat-belt, fastened it around
him then got into the driver's seat. 'What did you do this
morning?' she asked, reversing the car out of its parking
space.
'Boring stuff,' he answered.
Ellen glanced in the rearview mirror, but he was too
low for her to see his face. She didn't need to, though,
she'd already seen his scowl and didn't imagine it had
disappeared. Despite her impatience her heart fluttered
with misgiving, for the last thing she wanted was him to
suffer the kind of confusion his behaviour was
indicating.
'Can we make friends?' she said after a while.
No answer.
'How about we go to the movies tonight?' she
suggested.
'Mummy's already taking me.'
They didn't speak again all the way over to Sherman
Oaks where the dentist had his office. And while they
were there the only words Robbie addressed to her
were, 'I can do it myself,' as she made to help him up in
the chair.
As she watched the dentist checking him over she
could feel her heart aching, for despite his awkwardness
with her he was such a good boy really, did everything
the dentist told him and gazed up at the man with such
wide and fearful eyes that she wanted desperately to
hug him. Right now though, that would be the last thing
he'd want, and even though his shirt was hanging out
and his socks were falling down when he got out of the
chair, she didn't dare to point it out.
'Do you feel like going to the juice bar?' she asked, as
they got back in the car. Until lately this had been a
Saturday morning treat when the three of them went
grocery shopping together.
'No, Dad's not here,' he said sullenly.
Ellen nodded and watched him climb up onto his
booster seat for the return journey to school.
'How about giving Spot ten minutes in the dog park?'
she said.
This time he nodded, and though it was going to make
her horribly late for a meeting with the set designers,
and then in turn for a script session with Tom, the house
was on the way back to school, and if need be she'd take
Spot on to the office with her rather than use up any
valuable time returning him home.
The minute Spot got sight of the other dogs he was off
on his usual mad social round, plunging right into the
heart of a big-dog group and wagging his tail so hard it
almost lifted his back legs off the ground. Ellen waved to
a couple of people they knew, then carried her phone
over to one of the picnic tables and began making the
long list of returns Maggie had given her just before
she'd left. She was about to start on the fourth call when
she noticed Robbie sitting at another table, head bowed,
legs dangling and looking for all the world as though
he'd been abandoned.
Quickly clicking off the line, she picked up Spot's lead
and walked over to where Robbie was. The park was surprisingly
full for the time of day, with every imaginable
breed of dog strutting its stuff around the water trough,
running to fetch frisbees and balls, or attempting to
hump each other fast before their owners could intervene.
It was Spot's overactive libido that had got him into
so much trouble in the past, especially as he had no
particular care as to the size, sex, or even which end, of
the other dog he assailed. Today, however, as though
sensing Robbie's despair, he soon came trotting out of the
fray and took up position at his young master's feet,
where he kept a beady eye on park proceedings.
'Do you want to talk?' Ellen said.
Robbie shook his head.
She waited a moment, then said, 'Well, I feel like
you're kind of mad at me, and if you don't tell me what
I did, I can't say sorry, can I?'
After a while he mumbled something that she didn't
quite catch.
'I didn't hear you,' she said gently.
He started to swing his legs back and forth. 'I want
you to go.' he told her.
Ellen's heart contracted. 'You mean you want me to
leave you here?' she said, knowing that wasn't what he
meant.
'No!' he almost shouted. 'I want you to go away and
leave me and Spot and Mummy and Daddy alone.'
As her chest tightened Ellen lifted her eyes to the steep
hills surrounding the park. It seemed like a different
world all of a sudden, remote and impervious to the
helplessness she was feeling.
'If you go away then Mummy'll stay,' he declared.
'Oh darling,' Ellen said, 'that's not true. Mummy's got
her work . ..'
'It is true,' he cried, slamming his hands on the bench.
'You're only saying that because you don't want her to
stay.'
Ellen looked at his hurt and angry little face that was
so like Michael's, yet so like Michelle's too.
'Who said I didn't want Mummy to stay?' she asked
softly.
'You did!' he accused. 'You told Daddy you didn't
want Mummy in the same house as you. But Daddy
wants her to be there, I know because he told me. And if
you went away then Mummy wouldn't have to go back
to where Uncle Cavan is, she could stay here with me
and Daddy.'
Ellen was at such a loss she barely knew what she was
saying. 'But Daddy and I are getting married, sweetheart,'
she said. 'You know that and I thought...'
'I don't want you to get married,' he raged.
'Did you tell Daddy that?' she asked, wondering if
that was the reason Michael had been so distant with her
lately - except it wasn't really Michael who was being
distant, it was her, but only because she didn't know
how to handle this godawful situation with Michelle.
'Did you tell Daddy you didn't want me and him to get
married?' she asked again.
He shook his head, and her heart went out to him as
she realized he was probably afraid to say it to Michael,
because his five-year-old instincts were already telling
him that Michael wouldn't do as he wanted.
'Did you talk to Daddy at all about the way you're
feeling?' she said.
'He just says he loves you, but that's because you're
there and Mummy isn't. If Mummy was there all the
time he'd love Mummy, not you.'
So he had said something to Michael, but probably not
much by the sound of it, which meant that the cruel
perversity of all this was that she was the only one he felt
close enough to confide in, and the only one he trusted
enough to give him what he wanted. Of course, that was
much too complex for him to understand: all he knew
was what his little boy's logic was telling him, that she
was the reason his mummy and daddy weren't married.
And for all she knew he was right, because seeing
Michael and Michelle together these past few days had
shown her how very close they still were. In fact, she
suddenly realized, it was probably seeing that closeness
that had given Robbie the confidence to speak up now.
'Come on,' she said, standing up, 'let's get you back to
school.'
Chapter 9

Even though she'd seen him earlier, when he'd called
into the office on his way from the airport, Sandy still felt
a jolt in her heart the moment she spotted Michael sitting
at a corner table studying the menu. Knowing he was
waiting for her was so pleasing she just couldn't keep
down her smile, and she felt tremendously glad that
she'd devoted so much time and care to getting ready for
the evening.
After handing her coat to the hostess she followed the
maitre d' across the quiet, subtly-lit restaurant, leaving a
lingering trail of perfume in her wake, and causing a few
heads to turn to watch the striking young woman with
neatly-cut, ash-blonde hair and appealingly childlike
features pass by. As always she was wearing high heels
to raise her from her meagre five foot four, as she hated
being towered over by anyone, especially other women.
In Michael's honour she was wearing a stylishly low-cut
bronze satin dress, with thin gold chain straps over her
shoulders and a hemline that was short enough to show
her slender legs to advantage, but not too short to invite
a wrong impression. In fact, the dress wasn't dissimilar
to the one Ellen had worn the night she and Michael had
first met - a night Sandy remembered well and would
like nothing more than to forget.
'Hi,' she said, as the maitre d' pulled out a chair for her
to sit down.
Michael looked up, and quickly got to his feet. 'Wow,'
he said, 'you look sensational.'
Pleasure eddied through her, causing a faint colour to
rise to her cheeks, as she put her purse on the table and
sat down.
'Can I bring madame an aperitif?' the maitre d' offered.
Sandy looked at Michael.
'Bring us two glasses of champagne,' he said.
The maitre d' bowed and went away.
'I thought we'd celebrate the Deighton investment,'
Michael said. 'You've really saved the day with that one,
and I honestly can't thank you enough.'
She smiled. 'It only came through this morning,' she
told him. 'I was afraid we might not make it in time.
How are things looking your end now?'
'They're improving. We should have a much better
cash flow by the middle of next month, when the
money's due to come in from Granger Fielding. Did I tell
you how the old man called me up and told me straight
out that if it weren't for Richard Conway he wouldn't
touch me with a barge pole?'
Sandy laughed. 'Well, there's nothing like giving it to
you straight,' she commented.
Michael's eyes were glinting with irony. 'I've got to
tell you,' he said, 'that old man Fielding's not the only
one who feels that way. The Yanks truly don't like
giving out money to anyone who doesn't have a US
track record. They're really making me sweat over this.'
'But you're getting there.'
'Yeah, I'm getting there. Miramax have a soft spot for
the Brits, and I've got a situation going with them and
Fox Searchlight right now that has them both vying for a
US distribution deal. Obviously that's good news, but
the problem is, these things take time and we're in need
of the cash right now.'
'So how much did Granger Fielding come up with?'
she asked.
'Three and a half million. Which means we're still
looking for another ten, minimum. Twelve would be
better. Mark Bergin's getting some promising noises out
of his guys in Sydney, he tells me, and Chris is doing
well in New York.'
'And I'm off on a whistle-stop tour of Europe next
week,' she added, 'for meetings with everyone from
BMW to Moet and Chandon. So I think we should
remain optimistic for twelve.'
Michael smiled, and after the waiter had put down
their drinks he raised his glass to hers. 'Here's to you,' he
said softly. His eyes were looking closely into hers, and
as she felt the subtle change in mood she smiled too, and
watched him sip his drink.
'Craig told me about Maurice,' he said. 'I'm sorry.'
Sandy lowered her eyes, embarrassed and surprised
by the lump that rose in her throat. The humiliation she
had suffered at the funeral would take a long time to
forget, but she'd gone for Maurice, not for the relatives
who were so afraid he'd left everything to her. They
would find out soon enough, though how she'd
managed to stop herself screaming it in their faces when
they'd treated her so shabbily and called her such cruel
names, she still didn't know. She looked at Michael and
realized this was the first time he'd ever mentioned
Maurice.
'He was an unusual man,' she said, then laughed. 'I
don't suppose you'd argue with that, when he was
responsible for backing my efforts to finish you off.'
Michael's eyebrows rose.
'You'd have liked him,' she said. 'He was very
unassuming, asked for nothing, but always knew how to
get what he wanted.'
'Then I hope he taught you well,' Michael said, a light
of mischief in his eyes.
Sandy's heart tightened as she wondered if that was
some kind of invite. Then she grinned as he stifled a
yawn. 'No matter how boring you're finding me already,'
she said, 'I'm going to put that down to jet lag. Now tell
me, how's your mother? Did she get my flowers? Forget
it, I expect she got so many you'd never know.'
Michael chuckled. 'Believe me, she got them. She
made me sit there and listen to every blessed card she'd
received and sniff every flower she'd stuffed in a vase,
and all to make me suffer for being the only living
person in her vast sphere of family, friends and
acquaintances who forgot to send some. Ellen, of course,
who should have sent some with me, gets no blame for
this, because Ellen can do no wrong in my mother's eyes,
whereas I have yet, in my miserable thirty-four years, to
do anything right.'
Sandy laughed. 'What about Cavan? Did he manage
to send some from Pakistan?'
'He didn't have to, Michelle did it for him.'
Sandy smiled. Though there was no hint of a criticism
that Ellen hadn't done the same for him, she couldn't
help wondering if there was one there all the same. 'Did
you see Zelda today?' she said. 'She tells me Michelle's
in LA. That must be nice for Robbie.'
At the mention of his son Michael's eyes instantly
softened. 'He's obviously missed her a lot more than
we'd realized,' he said. 'He's really happy to see her. I
just hope it's not going to be too much of a problem
when she goes back.'
'When will that be?'
'The middle of next week. But then she'll be back
again for the wedding, so it won't be too long for him to
wait. She's staying with him while we're on honeymoon.
I think my mother's intending to be there too, so he's
going to be thoroughly spoiled, which'll end up making
things doubly difficult for me and Ellen when we get
back, but I guess we just cross that bridge when we come
to it. You're coming, aren't you? To the wedding? You
got your invitation?'
Sandy's smile was still in place. 'Yes, I got it.' she said,
wondering if he had any idea what it felt like to be sitting
there with someone you wanted so much, discussing
their upcoming wedding to somebody else. 'And I'll be
there. I don't know who's supposed to be running the
office, since you've invited us all, but I guess that's
another bridge that'll have to be crossed when we come
to it.'
As they drank again their eyes remained on each
other, until Michael looked down as he put his glass
back on the table.
'How are things going with Tom Chambers's script?'
she asked.
'Pretty good,' he answered. 'Ellen and Tom are giving
it a lot of time now, and Vic Warren's in daily touch by
phone or e-mail, so things like minor casting and set
design are already well under way.'
'What about the end?' she asked. 'Have they decided
what they're going to do about that?'
'There's talk of wrapping it up in LA,' he answered,
and grinned as she pulled a face. 'It could work,' he
assured her.
'So what's the aim of this film?' she said. 'Is it to bring
Rachel's killers to justice? Or is it to get World Wide
some awards?'
'Both,' Michael answered without hesitation.
'Did he manage to find out who the killers are?'
'Yes.'
Though she was interested, she knew better than to
ask, for the revelation was going to be one of the major
publicity hooks when it came time for the movie's
release.
'I'd like to see some of the rewrites, if they're
available,' she said.
Michael glanced up at the waiter as he approached to
take their orders. 'Give us a couple of minutes,' Michael
said, opening his menu.
After they'd chosen he looked back at Sandy and said,
'Listen, I'll have to come clean here. I haven't told Ellen
yet that I'm going to make you a producer on this, so
would you mind keeping it to yourself until I've had a
chance to?'
'Of course not,' Sandy assured him. 'But why? Do you
think she'll have a problem with it?'
'I don't know,' he answered. Then, clearly wanting to
change direction, he said, 'She couriered over the proofs
of a publicity package today. I'll bring it into the office
tomorrow for you to take a look at. It's good material for
potential investors, should help when you go to Europe
next week.'
Sandy was surprised. 'A publicity package?' she said.
'Does that mean you've cast the part of Rachel? Or are
we still just going on Conway's name?'
'For the moment, yes we're still going on Conway's
name,' he answered. 'But we've cast Rachel, it was just
too late to get Michelle's name on to the proofs.'
Sandy's eyes widened. 'Michelle, as in Michelle
Rowe?' she said, immediately gaining some insight into
the tension she'd sensed between Ellen and Michael
over the casting. 'I thought she'd given up acting.'
'She's making an exception for this,' he responded.
'She and Tom are very good friends.'
He was watching her closely, and Sandy realized that
he was trying to gauge her opinion on the choice of
Michelle, which suggested it might not be quite a done
deal yet. However, before she committed she wanted to
weigh up precisely how she might benefit from this. It
could be she'd be better off siding with Ellen, who was
no doubt completely opposed to the idea - and in any
other circumstances Sandy would be too, for the mere
fact that Rachel was American would have been enough
to persuade Sandy that an American actress should play
the part. On the other hand - in other words, on a
personal level - if this was causing a rift between
Michael and Ellen, which it had to be, then she certainly
didn't want to find herself in Ellen's camp should things
start turning ugly.
'Would I be right in thinking,' she said, deciding she
should have Ellen's position completely spelled out
before she moved on, 'that Ellen isn't happy with
Michelle's casting?'
The irony in Michael's eyes was confirmation enough.
'Who's got final say?' she asked.
Tom. But only for the part of Rachel.'
Sandy smiled and stored that away. 'You gave me the
impression a while ago,' she said, 'that Ellen wasn't
happy about the project, full stop.'
'Let's say she's had her reservations,' he replied. 'But
meeting Tom's helped. He's very persuasive, and there's
nothing like coming face to face with someone who's
been through what he has to make you change your
mind.'
Sandy picked up her glass and stared at it
thoughtfully. Though she gave no outward sign of it, her
heart was thudding harshly and her nerves were
fluttering like crazy. She wasn't even sure she had the
courage to do what was in her mind, until, in a voice that
she managed to keep perfectly calm, and with a smile
that was wholly benign, she heard herself say, 'Well, I
suppose when you're as power-hungry as Ellen, it's
probably not easy to be told what your next big project's
going to be. I'm sure she'd much rather have been
consulted.' She laughed. 'And in charge.'
Michael was frowning. 'Power-hungry?' he echoed.
'Is that how you see her?'
Sandy's eyes came quickly up to his. 'Oh, well,
perhaps I've got it wrong,' she said. 'It was just the
impression I got when we first met. I don't suppose I've
seen so many signs of it since, except over this, of course.
But then I'm not there every day, so I don't really know what's going on.' She laughed and waved a hand. 'And
who am I to accuse someone of being power-hungry,
when I've done the kind of things I have to get where I
am.'
He was still looking pensive, which surprised Sandy,
for she hadn't expected him to take the bait quite so
readily. But he had, and for the moment it seemed he
wasn't going to let go.
'Tell me, what gave you that impression?' he asked.
Sandy pondered for a moment, then said, 'Well, I
suppose it was what she said about Ted Forgon. You
know, the day she and I had lunch at the Cafe Roma in
LA. God, that was ages ago now, before you were even
living over there.'
'I remember the occasion,' he said.
Sandy smiled. 'Well, I don't know what Ellen told you
about that lunch,' she said, 'but I don't imagine it's any
secret now that she was the one who told me what stage
you were all at in setting up World Wide. It was how I
was able to give Ted Forgon what he needed to buy into
the company.'
Michael's face was looking strained. 'Ellen gave you
that information?' he said, clearly bemused, but not yet
angry. 'I don't understand. Why would she do that?'
'Oh God, I thought you knew all this,' Sandy said.
'No,' he corrected her, 'but I'd like to.'
Sandy looked trapped, as though she really didn't
want to go on. 'Well, to be honest,' she began, 'I wasn't
really sure why she did it myself at the time. It was only
later, when I really thought about it, that it started to
make sense. It was her way of getting you to go to LA.
She knew if Forgon got himself a majority share in
World Wide that you'd fight to get it back, and that you
could only do that if you were there on the ground. So
she had to arrange for Forgon to take over, and the best
way of doing that was to send me in for her.' Her eyes
danced, as though this were merely mischief they were
discussing rather than outright betrayal and deceit. 'I've
got to admit, she played it brilliantly,' she said, 'and
everything was on her side, including the fact that it was me who'd invited her to lunch, rather than the other way
round. I can tell you, I wouldn't mind those kind of
breaks whenever I'm trying to manoeuvre things to
work in my favour. Oh God, I'm sorry, this really is all
news to you, isn't it?' she said.
'You're right, it is,' he confirmed. 'I'm just wondering
what made you think she'd have told me.'
Sandy looked incredulous. 'Well, I suppose because
you got control back from Forgon virtually the minute
you arrived in the States. God only knows how Ellen
managed that, but I assumed it was something the two
of you had worked out together. There again, why tell
you about her involvement when she can heap all the
blame on me? I'm sure I'd have done the same in her
shoes and I'm sorry now that I even brought it up.'
He said nothing as he absorbed her words, though it
was very clear that he didn't like what he was hearing at
all.
'Listen,' she said, after a while, 'as you know, I'm the
last person Ellen would ever confide in, so I'm only
surmising here. I could have it totally wrong. All I know
is what she told me over that lunch, and what happened
as a result. And let's face it, it all worked out pretty well,
so there's no reason to get upset about anything.'
It was a while before Michael's eyes came up to hers.
He gazed at her for a few seconds, searching her face,
then suddenly he smiled. 'You're right,' he said, 'it did
work out, for all of us, including you.'
Sandy laughed with relief. 'Maybe you'll tell me one
of these days,' she said, 'exactly how you managed to get
back control.'
'Maybe I will,' he said. 'But now, what I want you to
tell me is whether or not you've managed to contact Vic
Warren.'
Satisfied with the change of subject, Sandy finished
her champagne and updated him on her latest
conversation with Vic Warren, who would be flying
over to London the following evening with a mass of
notes he'd made for script changes, casting, crewing and
a hundred other concerns that needed his input. The
seeds of Ellen's treachery had been sown: to overwater
them now would be simply to drown them. The fact that
she was lying bothered her not a bit, for it was her word
against Ellen's, and with a certain friction already
developing between Ellen and Michael this was unlikely
to be dealt with in a particularly rational manner.
The rest of the meal passed in a friendly way, with lots
of business to discuss that frequently made them laugh
and plunged them into some good-natured banter, as
well as seeming to draw them physically closer to each
other across the table.
It was after they'd ordered coffee and she'd returned
from the Ladies that he unwittingly opened up another
channel for her to feed in more doubt about Ellen. Not
having seen it coming Sandy knew she must tread
carefully, for planting the suggestion that Ellen might
have slept with Ted Forgon at some point in her career
certainly wasn't the direction Michael was expecting the
conversation to take. On the contrary, unless Sandy was
greatly mistaken, what he was trying to find out
was whether or not she had ever slept with Forgon. She
was curious to know why he'd be interested in that, but
there would be time later to fathom out his motive. For
the moment she was happy enough to go the route of
misunderstanding.
'You know, I think you're wrong, Michael,' she said,
unwrapping the dark chocolate that arrived with her
coffee. 'I know there were rumours at the time that Ellen
was sleeping with Ted Forgon, but I honestly don't think
she did. To be frank, I'm surprised you even suspect it.'
Michael looked at her in amazement. 'No, that's not
what I was saying,' he laughed. 'I'm convinced she
never slept with him, it's just not her style.'
Sandy smiled. 'Whereas it would be mine,' she said.
He had the good grace to look embarrassed, before
saying, 'I'm sorry. I'm not sure how we stumbled onto
this subject, but maybe it would be safer to get off it.'
'Whatever you say,' she responded, her eyes shining
with mirth. She hadn't felt this good in so long that were
there not still a half-bottle of wine on the table, she might
have considered herself drunk. 'But plenty of women do
use their bodies to get what they want,' she told him.
'Whether it be promotion, a new coat, an exotic holiday,
a peaceful life, or simply to make a decision go their
way.' She gave that a moment to sink in, thinking now of
Tom Chambers and the casting of Michelle - a decision
Ellen would very much like to go her way. The allusion
was probably too subtle for Michael to pick up right
now, but it was something she could easily come back to
another time. 'Or,' she continued, looking him right in
the eyes, 'depending on the man, it could be to achieve
unsurpassable pleasure in bed.' She dropped her gaze to
his lips, then returned to his eyes. 'Most women want
that,' she told him softly.
She hadn't flirted so outrageously since the days she'd
been paid to, in truth she'd thought she'd lost the ability,
but right now, looking at him across the table and
remembering that one night he had made love to her,
she was prepared to do almost anything to make it
happen again. What was more, from the way he was
looking at her, she could tell she had aroused him.
'When do you plan on coming into the office again?'
she asked.
'In the . . .' He cleared his throat. 'In the morning,' he
answered. He picked up his coffee, and was very quickly
back in control. 'I've got a stack of phone calls I need to
make. I don't really want anyone to know I'm here
though, I won't have time to see them all. If Vic's getting
in at five, I'll meet with him at Heathrow so he can fly
back again when we've finished. I promised my mother
I'd take her out to dinner tomorrow night. Maybe you'd
like to join us?'
Sandy's hand stopped in mid-air. She was so stunned
that for a moment she couldn't answer. 'Well, yes, I'd love
to.' she said, putting her coffee down. 'I'll have to check
my diary, but I'm sure I can reschedule if necessary.'
'Good,' he smiled. 'The others are all coming too.'
She had no idea if he knew how badly he had crushed
her with that, or even if he'd intended to, but it didn't
matter. She'd made sufficient headway tonight in
creating some doubt about Ellen; she'd also discovered
that she still had the power to turn him on. It was
enough for now.

Thanks to a lingering jet lag Michael woke at four in the
morning with an erection that was so hard it was almost
painful to move. He had no clear recollection what he'd
been dreaming of, all he knew was that Ellen wasn't in
the bed beside him and he wanted her badly.
He looked at the clock and groaned. Then, remembering
it would only be eight in the evening in LA, he
pulled on his dressing-gown and went downstairs to get
the phone. By the time he returned to the bedroom he
was thinking about the suspicion Sandy had put in his
mind earlier, that at some point in her career Ellen might
have slept with Ted Forgon. He was certain it wasn't
true, nor could he make himself believe that Ellen had
discussed his plans for World Wide with Sandy at a time
when the whole project was so vulnerable, especially not
when Ellen had known very well that Sandy was out to
finish him. No, he didn't believe any of it, though he
could wish it wasn't bothering him the way it was
seeming to.
He started to dial their number in LA. He was halfway
through when he abruptly rang off. From out of
nowhere the way Sandy had looked last night when
she'd spoken of women wanting pleasure in bed had
come back to him, and for a moment all he could think
of was the night he had taken her to his apartment and
screwed her half senseless. He'd be lying if he tried to
tell himself he didn't want to do it again, it made him
hard just to think of it.
But despite how gratifying the whole thing might be,
there was also something vaguely disturbing in the way
he wanted Sandy. Even though she had changed a great
deal since he'd first known her, it was still his basest
instincts she appealed to, arousing surges of violence in
his lust and a desire to abuse and humiliate her in ways
that appalled him even to think of.
Quickly he dialled again. 'Hi darling, it's me,' he said
when Ellen answered.
'Michael? What time is it over there?'
'Just after four in the morning,' he answered. 'Jet lag.'
He turned onto his side and rested the phone more
comfortably into his shoulder. 'I miss you,' he
murmured.
'Sorry? What did you say? How's Clodagh?'
'I said I miss you, and Clodagh's just fine. A bit
bruised, but she'll live.'
'Did you get any flowers?'
'I did, but they were later than everyone else's so they
don't count as much. How's Robbie?'
There was a short silence before she answered. 'I think
Michelle's just putting him to bed,' she said. 'Would you
like to speak to him?'
'Sure, when I've finished speaking to you.'
'Honey, I'm sorry, but I'm right in the middle of
getting changed. I've got a dinner tonight at the
Hillcrest. Ted Forgon needs a partner for some function
they're having and I said I'd fill in. Oh, and Tom's
escorting Michelle tomorrow night at the charity gala, so
you don't need to worry about that either.'
Michael's eyes closed. The last thing he wanted was a
fight, so he said, 'Put me onto Robbie if he's awake. If not
I'll speak to Michelle.'

Michelle was lying on her bed in the semidarkness,
Robbie beside her and an unfinished book resting on her
chest, when Ellen tapped lightly on the half-open door.
'Can I come in?' Ellen said, peering round.
'Sssh, he's asleep,' Michelle whispered.
Ellen looked at Robbie's sleeping face and felt her
heart ache. 'It's Michael,' she said, holding up the phone.
'I'll speak to him,' Michelle smiled. 'Suffering with jet
lag, is he?'
Ellen nodded and after handing the phone over, she
gently smoothed Robbie's face before leaving the room.
'Michael?' Michelle said into the phone.
'Hi, how are you?' he asked.
'Fine. How about you? And Clodagh?'
'We're OK. Robbie asleep?'
'Just. He misses you.'
'I miss him too.'
Michelle paused and wondered if Ellen might be
listening outside. 'Michael, we need to talk,' she said
softly.
It was a moment before he answered. 'I know,' he
said. 'Is he OK?'
'Of course he is. And he loves her, but. . . Look, let's
do this when you get back.'
'OK. By the way, good luck tomorrow night. I hear
Tom's taking you.'
'It would have been nice if we could've all gone, but it
wasn't to be.' She paused, then said, 'I miss you too,
Michael. Come back safely.' She waited for him to
answer, but he didn't, so she quietly clicked off the line.
Laying the phone down on the bed she turned to look
at her son, tracing the gentle curve of his inky dark
eyebrows, the small nose, his parted lips, the flush of his
cheeks. There was no love in the world to compare to the
way she felt about this boy. It was so powerful it could
tear her to pieces, so commanding it could swallow her
up in its might. If need be she would kill for him, so what
in God's name had made her abandon him to the care of
another woman?
A single tear rolled across her cheek and dropped onto
the pillow. She'd never been able to understand what
had made her do it, and not a single day went by that she
didn't deeply regret it. But at the time when she and
Michael had tried to work things out, it hadn't taken her
long to realize they were destined to fail. Michael had
loved Ellen and had wanted to be with her, so Michelle
had decided to let him go and take Robbie too. She'd felt
she owed Michael that, after depriving him of the first
four years of their son's life. It was the hardest thing she
had ever done, and maybe, if the kind of life she was
offering hadn't been so fraught with hardship and
danger, she would never have found it in herself to be so
noble.
Hearing Ellen call out that she was leaving, she swung
her legs off the bed and went to say goodbye. But by the
time she reached the sitting-room Ellen had already
gone, so, turning off the lights, Michelle returned to her
bedroom and lay down again next to Robbie.
She could understand Ellen's resentment of her, God
knew she'd feel the same were she in Ellen's shoes, but
sadly there was nothing she could do to make Ellen feel
any better. After all, Robbie was her son, and none of
them could do anything to change that. Nor would she,
even if she could, for despite the anguish it was causing
her now, there was nothing in this world that could ever
make her wish he wasn't hers.
Nor was she ever going to stop loving Michael,
despite how deeply she cared for his brother. She hated
to admit it, but Cavan was really only a substitute for
Michael, and she just didn't want to go on pretending
any more. Now all she wanted was for her and Robbie to
be with Michael, to be a family as they should be, and
would have been, had she not gone off the way she had.
But with the wedding only eight weeks away, she just
couldn't see how that was ever going to happen.
Chapter 10

'Stop!' Ellen gasped. She was laughing so hard she could
barely catch her breath. 'Just stop! I'll never be able to
take this scene seriously again.'
'But I'm only doing what's written here on the page,'
Tom protested, his grey eyes simmering with humour,
and Ellen collapsed again as he mimed the removal and
throwing into the air of his head.
'It says here,' he pointed out, '"Chambers tosses his
head."' He looked at her and shrugged. 'I'm just trying
to give you some idea of how this is going to look when
it gets to the screen.'
'Stop it,' she cried, wiping tears from under her eyes.
'Oh, God, what are you doing now?'
He was groping blindly around the floor, as though
searching for something. 'It says "Chambers drops his
eyes,'" he explained.
Ellen's head fell back as she exploded into laughter
again, then she shrieked and swung her legs onto the
couch as he began crawling towards her. 'There's
nothing about you being on your knees,' she protested.
'Correction. It says "Chambers doggedly pursues his
aim.'"
Ellen's ribs were aching. 'No more,' she pleaded. 'I'm
in pain.'
He sank back on his heels and looked across at her
face, eyes bright with tears, cheeks flushed with
laughter. 'OK, a definite improvement on the way you
came in here,' he decided. 'Because, I've got to tell you, I
was pretty scared when you walked in the door. I
thought I'd done something real bad.'
Ellen's laughter was rising again. 'You know, I kind of
like the idea of scaring you,' she teased.
His eyes reflected her humour. 'Oh, you certainly do
that,' he said dryly.
She held his gaze for a moment, then, feeling herself
starting to blush, she turned back to the script on her lap.
The first thing she read was 'Chambers drops his eyes,'
and her lips began to tremble again. 'I told you,' she said,
'I'm never going to be able to take this scene seriously
now.'
'But it's not a serious scene!'
'It is so! It's the point at which you challenge the editor
of the Washington Post to print your story about FBI
abuses on the Mexican border. And to name names.'
'Which has got nothing to do with anything that came
after,' he pointed out.
'Not true. It shows us at an early stage how committed
you are to your work. It also shows us how things do or
don't get coverage in the press. And getting turned
down makes you so mad and frustrated it causes your
first major fight with Rachel, which in turn convinces her
to give up her desk job and join you in the field. So I'd
say it's a pretty important scene.'
Chambers was grinning. 'You've got all the answers,'
he said, stretching his long legs out on the floor and
resting his back against the couch facing hers. 'So, it's an
important scene, but the way it's written, it's dumb as
hell.'
'That may be so. Excuse me, did you just yawn?' she
challenged.
'Who, me?' he replied, still stifling.
She was grinning. 'So how did it go last night?' she
asked. 'Did Michelle get through her speech OK?'
'She's a pro,' he answered. 'And it was so brilliantly
written, she could hardly fail.'
Since he'd more or less written it for her, Ellen threw
a pen at him, which he caught and looked over with some interest.
'What are you doing now?' she demanded.
'Looking at a pen,' he answered, seeming surprised
she didn't know.
As her laughter bubbled up again she felt the ease and
euphoria of these wonderfully light-hearted moments
stealing warmly through her. 'You're in a crazy mood
today,' she accused.
His eyes met hers, and feeling her colour rising again
she looked away.
'It must have been a good night,' she remarked.
He shrugged. 'It was OK. These things can get a bit
dreary, but it was good catching up with old friends.'
'Were there many there?'
'Yeah, a few. Not a good show by the press, which was
a shame.'
Ellen's guilt immediately flared, as the publicist
they'd hired for the movie had suggested they use the
event to get some early coverage for Michelle in the role
of Rachel, but Ellen had vetoed the idea. She wondered
if Tom or Michelle knew that, though she was pretty
sure they didn't. She just hoped to God Michael didn't
find out, or it was going to mean yet another fight, which
was all they ever seemed to be doing lately.
He'd wanted her to go pick him up from the airport
this afternoon, but she'd had this meeting scheduled
with Tom, which she might have cancelled had she not
still been so angry with Michael for agreeing to escort
Michelle to the gala. That he'd been unable to make it in
the end didn't matter, it was the fact that he'd agreed to
do it in the first place, and hadn't even mentioned it to
her. However, she had offered to send a car to meet him,
but, just before leaving the office to come here, she'd
been informed by Maggie that Michelle was stepping
into the breach. It was why she'd been in such a foul
mood when she'd arrived, and the fact that she'd also
been told that Michelle had gone to get Robbie from
school so he could go to the airport too, had infuriated
her to such a degree that she still wasn't too sure exactly
when she'd be ready to leave here and go home.
'You've gone serious on me again,' Chambers
accused.
Ellen's eyes came up to his and she couldn't help but
smile.
'I'm not going to ask if you want to talk about it,' he
said, 'because you might say yes.'
Ellen spluttered with laughter. 'Do you think we're
going to get any work done here today?' she enquired.
'Sure,' he answered. 'You agreed the scene was dumb,
so let's talk about what we should change while I open a
bottle of wine and pour us both a glass.'
'But it's only ...' she began, looking at her watch, 'five
thirty! My God, I had no idea it had gotten so late. Where
did the time go?'
Chambers was at the refrigerator. 'White?' he said,
taking out an expensive bottle of Chardonnay.
'I guess I ought to call home to remind someone that
Robbie has karate tonight,' she said and, picking up the
phone beside her, she got halfway through dialling
before cutting herself off. 'Let them sort it out,' she said,
as Chambers uncorked the bottle.
'What time's Michael back?' he asked, as he passed
her a glass.
'His plane was getting in at three thirty,' she
answered, avoiding his eyes as she took her drink. Her
heart was starting up an unsteady beat, and she didn't
really want to think about why. She couldn't help but
wonder, though, if letting him know that Michael was
already home was sending signals she wasn't even sure
she wanted to send. But whether or not he was picking
up on them was impossible to say, as his back was
turned while he fixed his own drink.
Sipping her wine, she allowed her eyes to travel the
length of his body in a way she'd almost rather die than
let him see. But it wasn't the first time she'd looked at him
that way, because Matty was right, there really was
something about him, and he had such an amazing
physique that it was impossible to stop her imagination
moving right through his clothes and conjuring up an
image that was much more to her liking than it should be.
Lowering her eyes to her glass, she took another sip
and wished Matty had never suggested that he might be
interested in her, because it had been on her mind a lot
since, and she had to admit that were it not for Michael
she'd be finding him very hard to resist. But, in truth, no
matter how angry she was at Michael, nor how attracted
she was to Tom, she loved Michael far too much to put
what they had at risk.
'Oh God, here we go again,' she groaned, as her
cellphone started to ring. 'If it's Jackie I could be a while.'
It was Jackie Bott, one of the producers, but the call
didn't take as long as Ellen expected, as Jackie and the
rest of the team were in the process of staking out their
new offices over at Paramount. However, she'd barely
finished before another call came in from Maggie, then
another from the accountants, then another from Billy
Christopher. Each conversation turned out to be as
hilarious as the next, as Tom kept insisting on joining in
and there weren't many on the team who didn't rise to
the occasion of his wit.
It was after seven by the time she finally got up to
leave. By then they'd managed to hack out half a dozen
more scenes and had almost finished the bottle of wine.
She knew she'd probably had too much to drive, but she
was feeling much more mellow towards Michael now,
and a little sorry that she had stayed here so long as
another means of punishing him.
Chambers walked her to the door, and opening it
turned to give her the peck on the cheek that had become their custom. But somehow it didn't quite work, as they
both made to lean the same way and entirely by accident
their lips touched.
Ellen started to apologize, but as her mouth opened
beneath his neither of them pulled away. The desire that
suddenly flared through her was so intense it was like a
pain, and as his lips lingered on hers she could feel her
body's urgent demand for more.
'Sorry.' he said, pulling away.
'No, uh, I'm sorry,' she said, unable to meet his eyes.
Then, forcing a smile, 'I'll see you tomorrow, yes?'
'Tomorrow,' he repeated.
She passed him and started down the corridor. 'Uh,
tomorrow's Saturday,' she said, turning back.
He nodded and grinned, and rolling her eyes she
made like she was firing a gun and went on to the
elevator.

Despite the fact it was getting dark by the time she
arrived home, the temperature still hadn't dropped
below eighty, even in the hills, and the moment she
stepped out of her air-conditioned car she could feel the
heat smothering her. She had deliberately thought no
more about Tom, except to convince herself that it had
been nothing more than a moment's aberration and had
little, if anything, to do with the real picture of her life.
That belonged only to Michael.
As she started towards the house she could feel some
nervousness mounting, though she wasn't entirely sure
why. Maybe it was because he might be angry with her
for not going to the airport, or annoyed that she hadn't
called to check he'd got back OK. Of course, he could
have called her, and the fact that he hadn't could well be
a sign that his mood wasn't good, at least not with her.
She guessed he was probably OK with Michelle though:
after all, she'd been there to meet him, and had thought
to take their son along too.
Swallowing hard on her resentment, Ellen foraged in
her purse for her keys and opened the front door. She
hesitated a moment as the sprinklers started up in the
rocky flower-beds across the front of the house. It could
have been the wine, or it could have been just the fact she
had missed him so much, but right then, more than
anything else she wanted all this tension to go away and
to feel Michael's arms around her as he told her he still
loved her every bit as much as she loved him. Even
thinking about it brought a lump to her throat, and,
making a quick resolve to keep her jealousy and
misgivings over Michelle in check, she pushed open the
door and went inside.
Robbie was due back from karate any time so she
guessed the empty house was down to Michelle, or
Michael, or both, having gone to pick him up. She
dropped her briefcase outside the study and, half
hoping that Michael might be taking a nap after his long
flight, she went on through to the bedroom. Though his
suitcase was next to the bed, there was no sign of him, so,
deciding to take a shower before he got back, she started
towards the bathroom. It was a shame, she was thinking,
that she couldn't swim naked in the pool and let him
find her that way, but with any luck he'd come back in
time to join her in the shower.
Hearing a strange noise outside she stopped and
frowned, not sure what it was or exactly where it had
come from. She turned round, feeling glad that she
hadn't switched on the lights, instead allowing those
from the garden to illuminate the room. That way, if
there was an intruder, she could see, but hopefully not
be seen.
Her heart was beating fast as she moved tentatively
towards the window. The security system was off, but
there was a phone next to the bed, and if there really was
someone outside in the garden she stood a good chance
of escaping through the front before they managed to
get in. But there was no sign of anyone. The shadows
were still, the pool was empty, and all the windows
appeared to be closed.
She was about to turn back into the room when she
suddenly noticed two half-empty glasses on one of the
tables next to the pool. And then a horribly familiar
movement caught her eye and as she looked deeper into
the shadows she saw Michael's and Michelle's naked,
moonlit bodies making fast, urgent love on one of the
thickly padded loungers.
For a long and agonizing moment Ellen couldn't
move. She simply stood there, staring, unseen in the
darkness, unthought-of in the deceit. In those few,
mindless seconds, she told herself it wasn't Michael she
was watching, it was someone else. Then she thought it
was Michael, but that she was dreaming. It was a
nightmare and she'd wake up any second. She even
thought that if she carried on into the bathroom, as
though she hadn't seen it, it would be like it had never
happened.
Then she started to shake, and seconds later some of
the horror of what this meant began to reach her. She
tried to resist it, to push it away as though it could be
erased by sheer will of denial. Her head began to swim.
She looked around and felt so strange and liquid inside
she thought she might faint. She moved towards the
bathroom then turned away. She barely knew what she
was doing as she returned to the sitting-room, picked up
her briefcase and went out of the front door.
As she got into her car she had no clear idea where she
was going. She guessed it must be to Matty's. She was
numb, unable to connect her thoughts to the pain, or the
betrayal to belief. The image of their intimately
entwined bodies was trying to take over her mind, but
she closed it out. It was too much to deal with. The
devastation of her dreams, the total crushing of her
heart, were a reality she was unable to face.
She turned into Benedict Canyon and the car rocked
as she took the corner too fast. She pressed a foot on the
brake and slowed right down. It was as if, by doing that,
she might slow the beat of her heart and decelerate the
rise of her panic. The road twisted down over the hillside,
cutting a route in the darkness between the huge,
glossy mansions of movie stars and moguls. Palm fronds
etched black across the face of the moon, spotlights
glowed from porticoed porches, traffic sped past her.
She reached Sunset and drove on to Santa Monica.
Minutes later she was heading along Melrose to Doherty.
The streets were so familiar; but the lights seemed
dazzling as a strange, enervating emotion engulfed her.
It was as though she were driving through a space that
had no connection with time; that had lost its
recognizable features of normality. The edges of her
mind were blurred, the feelings inside her were like a
force that had detached itself from her soul and was
seeking to devastate her heart.
She left her car with the valet and rode up to the
fourteenth floor. Her heart was thumping, all her senses,
as distant and alien as they seemed, were now honed on
what she was doing. She had left the world that she
knew and was walking into another that would lead her
along paths she was afraid to tread, but was refusing to
resist.
'Hi,' she said as Chambers opened the door, and she
heard herself laugh at his surprise.
'Did you forget something?' he asked, clearly
bemused.
'No.' She smiled.
He watched her walk past him, then he closed the
door and followed her inside.
She turned to look at him, her eyes slowly scanning
his face, until they finally came to rest on his lips. She felt
no need of words, for the air between them was
suddenly thick with the desire that had overcome them
earlier, and the fire in her loins was a power she had no
wish to control. She knew he could read her thoughts,
could feel him picking up her need and silently she
willed him to use it, even abuse it, any way he saw fit.
Neither of them moved, until finally she began to
unfasten the buttons of her shirt. His eyes remained on
hers as she peeled the fabric from her skin and let it fall
to the floor. Then she removed her bra and let that fall
too. He looked at her breasts, taking in their full, creamy
smoothness, the large, tight buds of her nipples, moving
his eyes over them lingeringly, caressingly, then returning
them to hers. She began to unzip her trousers, but
moving forward he stopped her. And, taking over, he
undressed her himself, while kissing her mouth, deeply,
erotically, demandingly, before making a descent over
her body to the aching moistness between her legs.
She moaned softly as his tongue sent sensation after
sensation flying through her, then she watched as he
undressed himself. His body was as large and powerful
as she'd expected, his arousal was immense. She moved
into his arms and opened her mouth to his tongue. Then
slowly she slid down his body, kissing his neck, his
shoulders, until reaching for his penis she took him deep
into her mouth.
'Oh Christ,' he moaned as her fingers raked his legs,
found his balls and dug hard into his buttocks. He sank
back against the wall, allowing her to bite him, suck him,
squeeze him, until he could bear no more. Quickly he
pulled her to her feet, scooped her up in his arms and
carried her through to the bedroom.
He laid her down on the bed, then stood over her,
gazing at her wild chestnut hair spread out on the
pillows, her beautiful mouth so soft and red and
inviting. Then he looked at her body, and the way her
legs were opening to let in his eyes. He leaned over her
and gently inserted his fingers. 'I've wanted to do this
since the moment I saw you,' he whispered.
She looked up at him, then her eyes fluttered closed as he began to move his fingers back and forth.
'Are you sure this is what you want?' he asked.
'Yes, I'm sure,' she responded. Desire was pulling
through her with such a force that even the thought of
him entering her was arousing her to a point where
she'd never be able to turn back, and as he lay over her
she opened her legs wide ready to receive him. And then he was there, pushing into her, filling her, pulling her to
him, and plunging the huge, commanding power of his
erection to the very heart of her.
His mouth found hers and his tongue moved into her
too. His movements were so skilled that as he played her
she could feel her entire body giving way to sensation.
He knew what she wanted, where to touch her, and
when to increase his motion so that she cried out in
shock and rapture. He held her to him, pressing her to
his chest, and carrying her to a place that she couldn't
avoid. Then he was moving there with her, holding her
tighter and tighter as he rammed himself into her and
felt the harshly breaking spasms of her climax gripping
him like a soft, hungry mouth.
A while later she sank into the bed and he lay over her,
his heartbeat pounding against her, his penis still hard
and not yet ready to leave her. Her head was turned
away, but he could feel her breath on his hand, then the
wetness of her tears. He held her closer, then let her go
as, sobbing, she pulled herself away and got up from the
bed.
'I'm sorry,' she gasped, 'I'm so sorry .. .'
'Ellen
'No, don't say anything.' She was crying so hard it
wasn't easy to speak. 'I should never have come back
here. I shouldn't have done this. I wasn't ... I wasn't
thinking straight...'
'Ellen, listen ...'
'No. You don't understand,' she sobbed. 'Michael and
Michelle ... I saw them ... Oh God, I should never have
done this to you.' She looked at him and a sudden rage
and confusion began to tear her apart inside. 'Why do
you want her here?' she pleaded. 'Why does she have to
be the one to play Rachel? She's ruining my life. She's
taking Michael and Robbie . . . Oh God . . .' She looked
frantically around the room as though trying to find a
way out of her pain. 'I have to go,' she choked.
'Ellen! Wait!' he cried as she ran into the other room
and began pulling on her clothes.
'No, no, don't touch me,' she begged as he came in
after her. 'I didn't mean for this to happen. I love
Michael. Please understand that. It's Michael I love.'
Then the memory of him on the lounger with Michelle
suddenly swamped her and she almost collapsed. 'He
still loves Michelle,' she sobbed as fresh tears streamed
down her face. 'I saw them together ... He was ... They
were.. .'
'It's OK,' he said, grabbing her shoulders. 'Just take a
breath. That's it. Now, are you telling me you found him
with Michelle? Making love to Michelle? Is that what
you're saying?'
Ellen nodded and closed her eyes as the pain seared
through her. 'Make her go away, Tom. Please! Please!'
she begged. 'Let someone else play Rachel. Oh God,
what am I saying? It's not going to stop him. Nothing is.
They've got Robbie. He's holding them together and ...
I can't bear it.' She covered her face with her hands.
'What have I done?' she choked. 'Oh God, what have I
done?'
'It's all right. No-one need ever know,' he assured her.
'Ellen! Are you listening to me?'
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I've got to go. Please forgive
me. Please try to forget I ever came back here tonight,'
and before he could stop her she'd grabbed up her
purse and was running out of the room.
By the time she arrived at Matty's the pain and horror
was taking her over completely. Her car phone kept
ringing, but she didn't pick up. She was too afraid to
speak to Michael, and too ashamed to speak to Tom. It
was as though her entire life had suddenly plunged into
the depths of a nightmare with no possible way out.
'My God! What happened to you?' Matty cried as she
opened the door. 'You look terrible.'
'I walked in on Michael and Michelle,' Ellen
answered, going past her to the kitchen. 'Where's the
wine? I've got to have a drink. Are you on your way
out?'
'Yes, but it can wait,' Matty responded. 'What do you
mean, you walked in on Michael and Michelle? Like,
they were ...?'
'Yes,' Ellen confirmed. 'Next to the pool. They didn't
know I was there. They still don't know.'
'Michael called here earlier, looking for you.'
Ellen's heart contracted as she turned to face her. 'He
was looking for me?' she said, holding on to the words
as though they were some kind of lifeline. 'What time
was it?'
Matty shrugged. 'I don't know. About an hour ago, I
guess. Pour me one of those. I'll just make a quick call
then I'm at your disposal'
Ten minutes later they were sitting either end of the
sofa, drinks in hand and the total travesty of the past two
hours now fully revealed. Matty's face was pale with
shock, while Ellen looked at her and wanted only to die.
'I don't know what to do, Matty,' she said. 'I mean, I
can't go back home, not while Michelle's there, and how
the hell am I ever going to face Tom again?'
'Well, I guess we'd better deal with first things first,'
Matty responded, 'and that's where you're going to
spend tonight. It'll have to be here, apart from anything
else you're in no fit state to get back in a car, but you'll
have to call Michael and let him know where you are.'
Ellen's eyes closed as the dread of speaking to him
closed around her heart.
'When does Michelle leave?' Matty asked.
'The day after tomorrow. Or that's when she's
scheduled to go. Things may have changed by now. Oh
God, Matty, I was so afraid something like this would
happen, and now it has I've gone and made it so much
worse. What the hell was I thinking? What was I trying
to prove?'
'It's not so abnormal to do what you did,' Matty
informed her. 'You were probably in shock, or denial.
Does Tom know about Michael and Michelle? Did you
tell him?'
Ellen nodded. 'After we made love I just went to
pieces. I made such a fool of myself, but yes, I told him.'

'Must have done wonders for his ego,' Matty
murmured. 'Anyway, do you think he's likely to tell
Michael what happened - between the two of you?'
Ellen shook her head. 'He said he wouldn't.' Then
suddenly she stiffened. 'Oh God, Matty,' she breathed.
'I've got to speak to him. I don't want him to tell Michael
I know about him and Michelle either.'
'Why?' Matty asked as Ellen snatched up the phone.
'I don't know. I guess because everything's so
complicated and I need time to think.' She asked for
Tom's room number, then passed the phone to Matty.
'You do it,' she said. 'I know I'm a coward, but I can't
face speaking to him again yet.'
Matty took the phone and put it to her ear. 'Hi,' she
said when Chambers answered. 'It's Matty Shelby here,
Ellen's cousin.'
'Hi Matty,' he said. 'Is Ellen with you?'
'Yes,' she answered. 'She's here.' She paused, then
said, 'Try to understand, she doesn't feel up to speaking
to you right now, but she wanted me to ask you... Well,
if you speak to Michael . . . She doesn't want him to
know that she walked in on him and Michelle, so would
you mind . . .?'
'Tell her I'll do whatever she wants.' he responded.
'How is she?'
'Kind of shaken up, but she'll be OK.'
'Michael's looking for her,' he said. 'He called here
about fifteen minutes ago. I told him we'd been working
all that time and she'd just left, so he's going to be
expecting her home pretty soon.'
'OK. I'll tell her. And thanks.'
Ellen listened as Matty relayed what had been said.
She felt sickeningly light-headed, displaced, unconnected,
bewildered and afraid. She wanted Michael so
desperately it was like she was drowning. She belonged
wherever he was, not here where he wasn't. She wanted
the clocks turned back, the last scenes of her life
unplayed out, the terror of her future never to come into
being. 'He just got back today,' she said, pressing her
fingers to her eyes. 'I should have gone to the airport,
then none of this would have happened.' She looked up
at Matty's face. 'How can I tell him I'm staying here for
the night when he's only just got back? What excuse can
I give?'
Matty was at a loss.
'I'll have to tell him that I've decided to stay here until
Michelle goes,' Ellen said finally. 'It's going to make
things worse . . .' She laughed bitterly. 'How much
worse can they get? And for all I know it'll be what he
wants, me out of the way so they can all be a family
again.' She turned to look out at the night and by the
time she turned back her eyes were submerged in
hopelessness and pain. 'I don't suppose there'll be a
wedding now,' she said, barely able to get the words
past the terrible ache in her heart.
'OK, don't let's start jumping to conclusions,' Matty
chided. 'We don't know what really went on there
tonight. Nor do we .. .'
'Matty! They were making love!' Ellen broke in. 'What
more do we need to know?'
'All I'm saying is sometimes these things, well, they
just happen. They don't mean anything, they just...'
'No, Matty,' Ellen said. 'The woman's Robbie's
mother, so whichever way you look at it, it means
something.'
They sat quietly for a while, both absorbing the
irrefutable truth of the last words.
'You know what I keep thinking,' Ellen said after a
while. 'I keep thinking that he wanted me to find out.
That something in him wanted me to walk in and find
them like that.'
'Oh come on!' Matty protested.
'But he knew I'd be home any time,' Ellen insisted, 'so
he had to know what a risk he was running, and they
were right there, next to the pool. They weren't even in
her bedroom where I might never have found them.'
'But why would he want you to know? It doesn't
make any sense.'
'It does if he wants us to break up.' Ellen answered.
Not sure how to argue that, Matty fell silent again.
Ellen looked at her and felt the pain of what was
happening plunge to the very depths of her heart. She'd
so desperately wanted Matty to protest, to point out how
she had got it wrong and how everything was going to
turn out all right. But Matty couldn't, and as the far
reaching effects of the past two hours started to close in
on her it was as though she was being swallowed into a
vacuum of despair.
'Why did I go back to the hotel?' she said, almost to
herself. 'Why the hell did I do that?' She looked at Matty. 'I keep wondering was it really a tit for tat, or was there
something much deeper and more calculating that was
driving me, something I'm not really in touch with?'
'What do you mean?' Matty asked.
Ellen shook her head. 'I'm not sure,' she answered. 'I
guess I'm just thinking about all the strange and
frightening things that go on in the subconscious, things
we're not even aware of... Like Michael wanting me to
find him with Michelle, like me running to Tom ...' She
paused for a moment, then getting up and going to the
window she said, 'If Michael wants out of our relationship
then it could mean the end of everything for me - or
certainly as far as this movie's concerned. So was there
something in me that knew that, and made me go to
Tom in an effort to get the movie out of Michael's hands
and into mine? At least then I'd have something . . .'
She turned back to Matty. 'Something he wants as much
as I want him. Maybe I could use it to bring him back to
me.'
Matty was looking at her with narrowed, baffled eyes.
'Is that what you think?' she said. 'That you'd do
something like that?'
Ellen shrugged. 'I think I just did,' she answered. 'But
I don't know if I meant to.' She sighed deeply and her
breath shook on a sob. 'I had dinner with Ted Forgon the
other night,' she said. 'I told him what was going on with
the movie, you know, about the casting and Michelle
playing the part of Rachel, and you know what he said?
He told me to get Tom on my side. There was no point
working on Michael, he said, Tom was the one to give
me what I wanted, so I had to do what I could to change
his mind.' She looked at Matty with a grim, almost
baleful smile. 'Maybe that's why I did it,' she said.
'Maybe it was always in my mind to sleep with him in
order to get what I wanted, and finding Michael with
Michelle gave me all the justification and excuses I
needed.'
'This isn't you talking,' Matty said. 'You're in post
trauma shock and analysing your motives like this is
only going to screw you up even more. I think you
should get on the phone to Michael now and tell him
where you are.'
Ellen's heart lurched, but even as she recoiled from the
prospect of speaking to him, she was longing for him
with a desperation that felt it might explode from her
heart. It all seemed so wrong, so utterly out of kilter with
their lives and how very deeply they loved each other. In
just over seven weeks they were supposed to be
married. He had wanted that so much. The honeymoon
was arranged. The church was booked. All their
families' flights were reserved. They couldn't back out
now, and surely to God they didn't want to. Despite
what had happened she couldn't make herself believe he
didn't love her any more, even though there was every
chance he didn't. But she didn't want to consider that,
she wanted only to see his eyes as they gazed deep into
hers, to feel his arms around her, as in her heart she
relived the joy and laughter they had shared, the
intimacy, the dreams, the power and strength of their
love. It wasn't all over. It couldn't be. They were so much
a part of each other's lives now, had built so much, come
so far. They would get past this, they had to, because
neither of them wanted the alternative.
Her head went down as she felt herself slipping into
the comforting realms of denial, but even there she could
find no escape from the pain. It was filling her up,
crushing her, scaring her. Even if she could she didn't
want to take the movie away from him, she wanted to
make it with him, and if it meant having Michelle in the
lead she'd live with it, just as long as they stayed
together.
She was about to pick up the phone when it suddenly
rang. She looked at Matty and felt her heart begin a slow,
fearful throb as Matty reached for the receiver.
'Hello?' Matty said.
'Matty, it's Michael again. I'm really worried about
Ellen. Tom says she left the Four Seasons almost an hour
ago, but she's not answering her phone. Has she called
you since we spoke?'
Matty's eyes went to Ellen. 'She's right here,' she said,
'I'll pass you over.'
Ellen's face was deathly pale as she took the phone.
'Hello?' she said.
'Darling, are you OK?' he said. 'I've been going half
out of my mind wondering where you are. Are you
coming home?'
Tears were stinging Ellen's eyes at the love and
confusion in his voice. 'Honey, I've . . . I've had a little
too much wine to drive,' she said. 'I think I better stay
the night with Matty.'
'I'll come and get you,' he said.
'No. Don't do that.'
'Ellen, I've missed you. I want to see you.'
Her throat was locked with emotion, and though she
wanted to scream at him for what he had done, she also
desperately wanted to carry on as though it had never
happened.
'I want to see you too,' she whispered, 'but Michael
'Yes?' he said when she didn't continue.
She looked out at the starry night sky and envisaged
him standing in their study, his belovedly handsome
face creased with concern. 'Honey, I think it's better if I
stay with Matty until Michelle leaves. Please don't think
I'm trying to pick a fight,' she rushed on as he started to
protest, 'I just think it would be a good idea for you three
to spend some time together. I'll see you at the office.'
'Ellen, I can't agree to this,' he said. 'I want to see you, now.'
'No, Michael,' she said. 'Please, just do as I ask and
don't insist I come home until after Michelle has gone. Is
she still leaving the day after tomorrow?'
'Yes.'
'Then it's not long to wait, is it?' She paused. 'Do it for
Robbie,' she said. 'Let him have some time with his
mommy and daddy.'
He was silent, and Ellen could feel her heart breaking
as she tried to figure out what he was thinking. He had
to be wondering if she knew what had happened, guilt
alone would make him think that. But short of asking
her right out there was nothing he could say, and the fact
that he didn't argue any further was a horrible
confirmation that what she had seen really had taken
place. But now she was just as guilty as he was, for she
had made love with another man and were he ever to
find out about that it would be an end to his friendship
with Tom - and how the hell could they carry on with
the movie if that were to happen? Though somehow
they'd have to, because with so much investment
already in place, or spent, there was no backing out
either.
'Do you have a breakfast meeting in the morning?' he
asked.
'No.'
'Then meet me at seven thirty in your office. I'll bring
coffee and bagels.'
She said nothing.
'Ellen?'
'Yes?'
'I love you.'
'I love you too,' she whispered, and barely able to hold
back the tears she abruptly ended the call. 'Then why
did you screw her, you bastard?' she sobbed. 'Why the
hell did you do it if you love me so much?' She turned to
look at Matty. 'I don't even have the luxury of getting
mad at him,' she raged, 'not unless I want him to know
I'm as guilty as he is.'
Matty sat quietly, waiting for her to calm down. It was
a while before she spoke. 'I was just wondering,' she
said, 'you know, about Tom, and what he was like? I
mean, he's kind of cute and . . . All right, I'm sorry, I
should never have asked,' she finished hastily as Ellen
looked at her in disbelief.
A few seconds ticked by.
'I just had the feeling that he'd be kind of good,' Matty
said, 'but no big deal.'
'OK, he was,' Ellen confessed. 'But it wasn't like it is
with Michael.'
'Did he make you come?'
'I don't know.'
'Well you were there, weren't you?'
'OK, yeah, I guess he did. But none of this is relevant,
Matty. It's only Michael who counts.'
'As far as you're concerned. And as far as he's
concerned you're the only one who counts. But Michelle
and Tom have feelings too. One of them could be
seriously in love with one of you guys.'
A cold dread opened up in Ellen's heart. 'I hope to
God it's not Michelle,' she said. 'If it is, then there's every
chance this could happen again.'
'And if it's Tom?'
Ellen sat with that for a while, then finally raised her
eyes to Matty's.
'If he is in love with you, you could use it to persuade
him out of casting Michelle,' Matty said, slightly awed
by the machiavellian slant to her own suggestion.
Ellen's eyes widened. 'In favour of you?' she said.
Matty shrugged. 'If Michelle's no longer in the
running for Rachel, then as far as I can see it, we can both
only win. Better still, after what he did tonight, I can't see
Michael putting up much of a fight to keep her. Not if it's
you he still wants, which it certainly seems to be.'
Ellen was thoughtful again, then finally shook her
head. 'I know what you're saying,' she responded, 'but I
could never use Tom like that.' Then her eyes came back
round to Matty as she added, 'Except I already might
have.'
Chapter 11

There were now only three weeks to go before the
wedding and though there wasn't a single shred of
doubt in Michael's mind about how much he loved
Ellen, or how much he wanted her to be his wife, he
wished to God they weren't having to go through all this
fuss. The main problem was the religious orientation of
both their families, meaning that there was just no way
they could avoid the church, the motherly input, the
endless list of guests, or the thousand and one other
things that went into making up the crushingly
expensive circus of a Catholic wedding.
Still, apart from being rushed off their feet, and having
far too little time to spend together, they seemed to be
coping with it all, and whatever it was that had forced
Ellen to spend a couple of days with Matty before
Michelle had returned to Asia didn't appear to have left
any lasting damage. At least he didn't think it had, but
in truth it was hard to tell when there was so much going
on around them. Occasionally he got the sense that Ellen
was avoiding him, but then, during the times they did
manage to spend together, she was as loving and
receptive as ever, unless she was putting on an act. But
she seemed excited about the wedding, and kept
insisting how much she was looking forward to the
honeymoon and being able to relax and spend two
whole weeks just enjoying each other.
It was of course what he wanted too, but whether it
was guilt that was taking the edge off his own
excitement, or whether it was the way Ellen seemed to
be putting on an act, he couldn't really say. All he knew
was that something wasn't right. Of course, there was
nothing like a guilty conscience to breed paranoia, so
maybe it was all in his head, and as her oddness of
behaviour had only started about a week ago, it was
easy to persuade himself that it had nothing to do with
Michelle at all.
But it wasn't easy living the lie, unable to explain why
he'd done what he had, or to swear it would never
happen again. Though nothing would ever induce him
to confess, when the only one it would really hurt was
Ellen. Of course it would never have happened if she'd
come to the airport that day, for there would have been
neither the opportunity, nor the inclination. Not that it
was her fault, things had just turned out that way, but
there was no doubt that he'd been seriously pissed off
when he'd discovered that it was a meeting with
Chambers that had taken priority.
Sure he wanted the script in shape, but he wasn't
unaware of the way those two flirted with each other,
and it wasn't something he liked too much. He'd never
said anything, because the last thing he wanted was to
come on like some paranoid, insecure jackass, but there
was no getting away from the fact that that was partly
what had driven him to make love to Michelle that night,
but only partly - and though he really didn't like to
think about it at all, he couldn't help wondering what
had driven Michelle.
At first he'd thought it was something that had just
happened, one of those situations that had arisen and
they had both got carried away. But he was far from
being certain about that now, not only because of what
had been going on in his own mind at the time, but
because of the whole way it had come about.
After Michelle and Robbie had collected him from the
airport they'd returned to the house, and almost
immediately he had gone out again to take Robbie to his
karate lesson. Michelle had stayed behind and when
he'd returned she was swimming in the pool.
'Hi,' she'd called, as he'd come out onto the patio.
'Any chance of a drink?'
Feeling in need of one too, he'd gone back inside to
mix two large Martinis. Despite the darkness and being
so high in the hills, it was as hot as hell, so when he took
the drinks outside and Michelle suggested he take a dip
too, he stripped down to his boxers and dived in with
her.
As they swam they talked, but his mind was barely on
what they were saying, for he was thinking about Ellen
and just exactly what she and Chambers might be doing
down there in the privacy of Chambers's hotel room.
The fact that she was so late getting back, and that she
hadn't bothered to call either, was making him think the
worst.
'Mmm, that feels so much better,' Michelle said,
climbing up the steps of the pool and reaching for a
towel. She was wearing a black one-piece bathing suit,
cut high on the leg, and plunging almost to the waist at
the front. She had always had an excellent body and
Michael couldn't help noticing just how good she looked
as she strode over to where he had left their drinks.
'You look tense,' she smiled as he came to join her.
'I guess I've got a lot on my mind,' he answered,
picking up his drink and going to sit on one of the
loungers. 'Do you want to talk about Robbie?'
'Not now,' she said. 'You're too tired.'
A few minutes ticked by. Even the sounds of the night
seemed to be stilled by the heat.
'If you don't mind, I'm going to take my swimsuit off,'
Michelle said.
Her words were like an instant charge through his
body, though he neither spoke nor moved. He knew this
was a situation he shouldn't be getting into, but instead
of forcing himself to go inside he merely stared down at
his glass and listened as she rolled the tight wet lycra
down over her body.
Still he didn't look at her, for he knew only too well
how beautiful she was, and how easy it would be for
him to give in to the demands of his own body.
It was only as she moved behind him and began to rub
his back that he started to speak, but even then all he said
was, 'We shouldn't be doing this.'
'Sssh,' she whispered, pressing her fingers into his
shoulders and beginning gently to massage.
It felt so unbelievably good that he merely closed his
eyes and allowed his head to fall forward. The pressure
of her hands and proximity of her naked body was too
potent to resist.
'Lie down,' she said, and taking the glass from his
hand she put it on the table next to hers.
She was in front of him again and as he looked up at
the slender beauty of her body, the erect buds of her
nipples and careless fall of her hair, he lifted a hand and
placed it on her hip. The scent of her was so powerful
that he could feel the erection almost bursting from his
shorts, and as she eased herself gently towards him he'd
buried his face in the damp, curling thatch of her pubic
hair almost without thinking.
The taste of her was so hot and familiar that he
tightened his grip on her, and pushed his tongue deeper
and faster into her. He could hear her panting and
groaning, and felt the harsh dig of her fingers in his
shoulders. She leaned over him and he reached up for
her breasts, squeezing her nipples and sucking even
harder with his mouth.
Then he was on his feet, lowering his shorts, and
pushing her down on the lounger he lay over her and
entered her as she enclosed him in the circle of her arms
and legs. He had a brief vision of Chambers doing the
same to Ellen, and Ellen receiving him as willingly as
Michelle was receiving him now. A sudden anger fired
his passion and as he rammed harder and harder into
Michelle he thought of Ellen and hated himself for what
he was doing, though he was unable to stop.
When it was over he excused himself and went inside.
As he showered he tried to blot what he had done from
his mind, but already the guilt was claiming him and all
he could do was thank God Ellen hadn't come back. Not
even the fact that she could be making love with
Chambers lessened his guilt, for he knew it was jealousy
which caused him to imagine it.
Now, as he steered his car from La Cienega onto
Sunset, he could only thank God that Michelle wasn't
the type given to hysterics, or any horrendous notions of
blackmail. For sure, she'd been upset when he'd asked
her to forget what had happened. She'd even asked him
to delay the wedding to give them all some more time to
think, but in the end she had accepted that it truly was
Ellen he loved and that to do what Robbie wanted just
wasn't going to work.
Pulling into the parking lot behind Cafe Med, he
waited for someone to vacate a space, then eased his car
in. As he locked up and walked over to the restaurant he
was wondering, not for the first time, what had
happened to change Tom's mind about the casting of
Michelle. Or, more to the point, how Ellen had managed
to talk him round, since she had to be behind the change
of heart, especially as Tom was now considering Matty.
Not that Michael had any objection to Matty, she was a
damned good actress and was in truth much better
suited to the part than Michelle. It was simply that Tom
had been so decided, it was the only 'final say' he had
insisted upon, and now he had done a complete about
turn.
Though Michael couldn't help suspecting the worst,
he wasn't going to give rein to it, though he couldn't
help wondering who was going to break the news to
Michelle, and how, once someone did, he was going to
convince her that it had nothing to do with what had
happened between them.
Still, his main concern right now was for Ellen, which
was why he had invited Matty to lunch in the hope that
she might be able to throw some light on the way Ellen
had been this past week.
The restaurant, on the corner of Sunset Plaza Drive,
with its shady terrace and red check tablecloths, was a
lunch-time favourite for the industry, which was presumably
why Matty had chosen it. She'd want to be seen
with Michael, since he was definitely becoming one of
the people to be seen with.
He found her sitting at a secluded outside table, olive
oil and bread already served and a glass of iced tea in
need of a top-up.
'Sorry I'm late,' he said, kissing her on both cheeks.
'Did you get my message?'
'No, but it doesn't matter,' she answered, as he slid
into the seat opposite her. 'So, how are you? Three weeks
to go. Not getting second thoughts, I hope.'
He laughed. 'Not me,' he answered, signalling to a
waiter. 'Bring me an espresso,' he said, 'and more iced
tea.' He looked at Matty again. She was a strikingly
attractive woman with more than a passing resemblance
to Rachel, which made him wonder if maybe she and
Chambers had something going. It could account for
Chambers's change of heart on the casting. But if there
were anything romantic going on Ellen would have been
sure to mention it.
'Have you seen much of Ellen lately?' he asked.
Matty looked at him in amazement. 'Are you
kidding?' she answered. 'You've got to have an
appointment weeks in advance to get near my cousin
these days; even the dressmaker's complaining.'
Michael smiled. 'It's a pretty hectic time.' he said.
'What about Tom? Have you seen him at all?'
'A couple of times,' she said, and felt her cheeks
starting to colour as she tore off a piece of bread and
dipped it in oil. She didn't eat, instead she forced her
eyes back to Michael's. 'You obviously know he's
considering me for the part of Rachel,' she said. 'So are
you trying to tell me you have a problem with that? Is
that what this lunch is about?'
He shook his head, and hid his irritation. It was so
typical of an actress to think everything was about her,
but he was fond of Matty, and knowing what a break
this would be for her, he realized he was being too harsh.
'No, I don't have a problem with it at all,' he assured her.
'I've got to admit, I was surprised when Ellen told me,
but it'll be good to have you on board.'
'Thanks.' Matty's dark eyes showed her appreciation.
'So,' she said, after a while, 'I could flatter myself that it's
my scintillating company that got me this invite, but I
know you're too busy for such personal luxuries.'
Michael's espresso arrived with a waiter who was
keen to take their order, so after scanning the menu
quickly, Michael ordered a seared tuna for himself and a
chicken Caesar for Matty, then handed the menu back.
'I'm worried about Ellen,' he said frankly.
Matty looked at him, showing no surprise or concern
as she waited for him to continue.
He glanced awkwardly around, feeling the
midsummer heat burn through his shirt and the noise of
the other diners drum through his ears. 'She's not
herself,' he said. 'I don't know what it is, I just know that
something's not right.'
'In what way?' Matty asked.
He looked more awkward than ever. 'In the way she
is with me,' he said.
'You mean .. .?'
'I mean in every way.'
Matty thoughtfully sucked in her lips. 'Did you talk to
her about it?' she said.
He nodded. 'She says there's nothing. I asked her if
she was sure she still wanted to go ahead with the
wedding, and she accused me of being the one who
wanted to back out. I think we got past that, but I've
caught her crying several times since, and she's so
uptight and hostile towards me that I . . .' He looked
down at his coffee, clearly having a difficult time putting
all this into words. 'Is there anything I should know?' he
said, returning his eyes to Matty's. 'I mean, did
something happen she isn't telling me about?'
'Like what?' Matty asked.
Michael looked at her and wondered if there really
was any chance of learning the truth here. She was
Ellen's cousin and would stand by her no matter what.
So if Ellen did know about him and Michelle, but didn't
want to discuss it, there wasn't much hope of Matty
breaking her trust. Nevertheless he had to try, though
exactly what he was going to do if Ellen had managed to
find out, he had no clear idea. 'I don't know,' he said.
'Like anything. Does she seem upset to you, when you
speak to her?'
Matty smiled. 'No more than any other bride three
weeks before her wedding,' she told him.
Michael smiled too. 'Do you think that's all it is?' he
said. 'Stress?'
'I'm positive that's all it is,' she answered. 'I didn't
know she was crying a lot, but from what I hear that's
pretty normal too.' She hesitated a moment, then said,
'How are things with Robbie? Is he accepting her more
now?'
Michael sighed and shook his head. 'He's being pretty
obnoxious,' he confessed. 'He's trying hard not to be, but
just the way he's counting the days to Michelle's return
has got to be tough on Ellen. She's great with him, which
is more than he deserves, but the poor kid's only five, we
can't expect him to understand what goes on in the
world of grown-ups. I smacked him last night. It was the
first time and I don't know who was more shocked, me
or him, but he backchatted Ellen in a way I wasn't going
to accept.' He forced a smile, then, swallowing hard, he
turned to look out at the passing traffic. 'Of course, he
wants to leave home now and go to live with his
mother,' he said.
Matty studied his pale, handsome face and her heart
went out to him in his pain, for it was so clear how much
he was suffering, not only because of Robbie, or because
of his guilt for sleeping with Michelle, but with all the
stress that he too was undergoing in the build-up to the
wedding. But his concern wasn't in any way for himself,
it was wholly for Ellen, which only went to prove how
deeply he loved her, and how vital it was that he never
found out about Tom, or that Ellen knew about Michelle.
They didn't need to deal with history when they had so
much to look forward to. All that mattered now was
how much they loved each other, and it would be just
plain crazy to let the madness of a single night in any
way damage that.
At least that was what she was telling herself, for no
matter how much she wanted to help Michael through
this, there was just no way she could be the one to tell
him what had gone on the night he had flown in from
London. It simply wasn't her place, nor, in the end,
would he thank her for it. 'You know what I think?' she
said.
Michael turned back to look at her.
'I think that honeymoon is just what you two need
right now. It's been a tough call for you both, you know,
since you came to LA and Ellen moved in with you. I
mean, you didn't have much practice at being together
like that before, and she's not used to being a mom, nor
are you to being a dad. And with the way the movie's
really taking off now, and all the pressure you're both
under because of that, to be frank, I find it amazing
either of you are still sane.'
Michael smiled.
'And what's more,' she continued, 'there's nothing
like a wedding to bring out the worst in people, even
those who are about to get married. What am I saying, especially those who are about to get married,' she
corrected with a laugh. 'And if you're looking for
reassurance that she still loves you, I can give it
unreservedly, wholeheartedly, with passion, conviction
and total knowledge that it's absolutely true.'
Michael laughed. 'I guess that's what I was looking
for,' he said, glancing up as a waiter hovered with their
food.
Matty waited for their plates to be put down, then,
picking up a fork, she said, 'Just tell me something, when
Michelle comes back for the wedding, is your brother
coming too?'
Michael looked surprised. 'Of course,' he answered.
'He's the best man.'
Matty smiled. 'Good, because I'm going to be honest
with you, it was hard on Ellen having Michelle around.
I think she needs to see her and your brother together to
be convinced that everything between you and Michelle
is really over.' She paused. 'I guess it is, isn't it?'
Michael's eyes darkened with intensity. If she knew,
this was probably the closest he was going to get to her
admitting it, so it was his only chance of letting Ellen
know how truly sorry he was. 'Matty,' he said, 'I love
Ellen more than I've ever loved anyone in my life. I
always thought, after Michelle, that nothing could ever
be that strong again. But I was wrong, because what I
feel for Ellen goes beyond anything I can put into
words.' He stopped, but Matty could see he wasn't
finished. 'I'll be honest with you,' he said, 'it's taken
some mistakes on my part to find out just how much she
means to me, but they're not mistakes I'll ever make
again.' His eyes were suddenly boring into hers. 'I don't
want to lose her, Matty,' he said. 'I really don't.'
Matty smiled, and reaching across the table she
covered his hand with hers. 'Believe me,' she said, 'she
doesn't want to lose you either. Which is precisely why
it isn't going to happen.'

Sandy had checked into the Four Seasons Hotel on
Doherty, made a couple of phone calls back to the UK,
then gone straight on to a meeting with Michael and a
group of executives from CBS. Though Rachel's Story was taking up most of their time now, there was still
other World Wide business to attend to, like the twenty-six-part
TV series, based on the Shirley Whitfield novel Too Many Barriers, that Michael had commissioned while
still in London.
So officially she had flown to LA a week earlier than
everyone else in order to join Michael for the big sell on Barriers. Unofficially, she was here to get the lie of the
land before the wedding actually took place.
Since Michael's recent trip to London she'd been
waiting for the repercussions of her revelation that Ellen
had betrayed him over World Wide. As their relationship
had appeared to be going through a rocky phase anyway,
Sandy had been extremely hopeful that her news would
help drive an even bigger wedge between them, but so far
that didn't seem to have happened. But having not yet
seen them together it was impossible to know exactly
how things were progressing this close to the wedding,
though common sense was telling her that there was
every chance she was going to be turning up at that
church on Saturday 15th along with everyone else.
But nothing was over until it was over, and as she had
a dinner scheduled with Ted Forgon the following night,
she hadn't yet given up hope of preventing the wedding
from ever taking place. That had to be her goal for now,
difficult though it was, she had at last been forced to
accept that it wasn't going to be for love of her that
Michael would end his relationship with Ellen. At least,
not right now he wouldn't. He would only do it because
he either couldn't, or didn't, love Ellen any more. And
bringing that about obviously wasn't going to be anywhere
near as straightforward as Sandy had hoped. But
it wasn't in her to give up, especially not when she knew
Michael still desired her, nor when there was Tom
Chambers's sudden change of heart on the casting of
Rachel to explore. Of course there might be nothing
sinister in that at all, but on the other hand her instincts
were telling her that it would certainly be worth a small
investigation.
Seeming to sense her tiredness after the long flight,
Michael took over the meeting and managed to bring the
CBS team much closer to signing up a twenty-six-part
TV drama than they'd probably ever been in their lives.
It was the suggestion that NBC had called World Wide
back for a fifth meeting that had done it, which was of
course a ruse, but Hollywood thrived on the paranoia of
executives who lived in dread of passing on the big one,
but were even more terrified of committing.
'It's definitely a no-go,' Michael laughed, as he opened
the passenger door of his Land Cruiser for Sandy to get
in. 'But it feels pretty good getting them on the hop like
that. Sam Beckers at Showtime is going to be a whole
different ball game. We're seeing him tomorrow. I'm
quietly optimistic on that front.'
Sandy waited as he walked round the car and climbed
up into the driver's seat. 'What time are we supposed to
be having dinner with Tom tonight?' she yawned.
Michael grinned. 'Eight, at the hotel,' he answered,
'but I don't think you're going to make it.'
She looked at her watch. 'Right now it's two in the
morning for me,' she informed him. 'But if I can nap for
an hour I should be OK for this evening. Is Ellen joining
us?'
'I hope so,' he said, steering the car out of the parking
lot onto one of the streets that joined up with Ventura.
'I read the rewrites of the first forty scenes,' Sandy
said, looking around at the startling profusion of
restaurants, banks, dry-cleaners, yoghurt stops, supermarkets,
music and video stores, and of course the
ubiquitous McDonald's. They're good. I mean, really
good.' She turned to look at him. 'What do you think?'
"The same.' he answered. 'It seems Ellen's got
something of a feel for Rachel, or so Tom tells me, that's
why it's working out so well.'
'Have they done anything with the ending yet?'
'We discussed it briefly the other night, but they're not
planning to start work on that until Ellen and I come
back from honeymoon.'
Sandy turned away. It made her sick just to think of
them together, never mind in the throes of a honeymoon.
'Where are you going?' she asked through the
dryness in her throat. 'Or is it a secret?'
He smiled. 'Ellen thinks we're going to Hawaii,' he
answered. 'I'm not sure how she figured that out, but
she's wrong.'
'Won't she be disappointed? Hawaii sounds pretty
exotic to me.'
'It's OK,' he said. 'Or so they tell me.'
'So where are you going?'
'We've got a house in the Caribbean, I'm taking her
there. After all the craziness of getting the movie up and
running we need to be alone for a while, and a hotel isn't
going to offer that in quite the same way as the house
will. It's what she wants too, but she thinks I haven't
picked up on the hints.'
Sandy could feel her face tightening and she
wondered if Ellen had any idea how lucky she was to be
so loved. 'So what happened about Michelle?' she asked.
'I hear she's no longer in the running for Rachel.'
Michael turned his head sharply. 'How did you hear
that?' he asked. 'It's supposed to be under wraps, at least
until Michelle's been told.'
'Actually, Ellen told me,' Sandy said. 'I spoke to her
last week about something else, and she mentioned that
Tom was now considering an American actress for the
part.'
Michael's eyebrows went up. 'For American actress
read Matty Shelby, Ellen's cousin,' he informed her. 'But
she's right for the part, which was why Ellen fought so
hard for her.'
Sandy gazed out at the largely unrecognizable assortment
of cars with their crazy number-plates and witty or
spiritual bumper stickers. She was suddenly so tired she
could hardly think, never mind speak, which couldn't
have been more frustrating when they were right on the
subject she wanted to be on. 'So you agree with the new
casting?' she said, stifling another yawn.
'Nothing's in stone yet,' he responded, 'but yes, in
principle, I think Matty could work out well in the role.
Why, you don't anticipate it having any adverse effect
on the European investors, do you?'
She shook her head. 'No, I don't think so,' she answered. Then, laughing, she said, 'You know, I feel
quite humbled by all the responses I got while I was
travelling around. Mind-blown at first, then incredibly
humbled. I shouldn't think that as many as half of the
companies I spoke to had ever even heard of me, or you,
yet somehow I managed to come out of that trip with
over five million dollars.' She turned to look at him. 'It's
amazing how personally involved you start to feel with
these guys after they've given you their trust like that,
isn't it? I really want this to work out now, for them as
much as for us. Is that how you feel too?'
He laughed. 'It's exactly how I feel, especially when
we've got so many friends and family with their money
tied up in it too. Did I tell you my mother gave me
twenty thousand pounds - virtually the whole of her life
savings - when I was last in London? Seems no-one's
prepared to believe we can fail.'
'We can't,' Sandy said, fishing around in her bag for a
throat sweet. 'Except I have to say I thought you'd be
keen to have another big name in the role of Rachel,
when the movie's actually about her, rather than Tom.'
'But Rachel gets killed two-thirds of the way through,
so that makes Tom's the bigger part.'
'Of course,' she said and yawned again.
By the time they arrived back at the hotel she was fast
asleep in the seat next to him, and woke only when the
car valet opened the door and Michael spoke her name.
For a moment she was confused, wondering where she
was, and as though reading her mind Michael smiled
and said, 'The Four Seasons. Los Angeles. Heading fast
towards the end of the second millennium.'
Laughing, Sandy unfastened her seat-belt and
allowed the valet to help her down.
'I'm coming in to see Tom,' Michael told her, as he
walked round the car to join her. 'Ellen's tied up with the
wedding organizers for the next couple of hours and
Robbie's staying the night at a friend's.'
'Would you like to come and have a drink with me?'
Sandy offered, as they walked past the uncannily lifelike
statues at the entrance and went into the crowded lobby.
He laughed. 'Sandy, you're so tired you can't even
walk a straight line,' he said.
'We could go to my room,' she suggested.
He looked at her, and despite everything that had
happened these past few weeks, and all the guilt and
self-recrimination that had followed, he still felt the
stirrings of a response to the promise in her eyes. 'Get
some sleep,' he said. 'I'll call you at eight to see if you're
fit to come and join us.'
Though her cheeks coloured at his rejection, her eyes
lingered a moment longer on his, before she pressed the
button for the elevator and stepped inside.
Going into the bar Michael ordered himself a neat
Scotch from the waitress, and sat down at a dark corner
table hoping not to be recognized. He wanted a few
minutes alone, and though the Four Seasons was hardly
the place to get it, he was here now and due to meet Tom
in fifteen minutes. He looked at his watch, then taking
out his cellphone he dialled Ellen's number.
'Hi,' he said, when she answered. 'How's it going over
there?'
'OK,' she said. 'We're just talking flowers. We should
be through in about an hour. Matty's with me, shall I
invite her to join us for dinner?'
'Sure.'
There was silence for a moment, until Ellen said, 'Did
you call for a particular reason?'
He laughed. 'No. Just to hear your voice. I wish we
could get out of tonight. With Robbie at Jeremy's we
could have the evening to ourselves. Shall I cancel?'
'No,' she said. 'We're going to have all the time we
need in a couple of weeks. Did Sandy arrive OK?'
'Yeah. She's taking a nap. I don't think we got
anywhere with CBS.'
'You didn't expect to. Listen honey, we're kind of
busy here, do you mind if I ring off?'
'Sure. I'll see you later. Love you.'
Not for the first time she didn't say it back, and as the
line went dead he could feel the anxieties that had forced
him to speak to Matty a week ago starting up again. She
was so cold with him lately, or perhaps not cold, just not
the way she usually was. And, unless it was his
imagination, she wasn't at all keen to be alone with him,
for this was the second time in as many days that she
had turned down the opportunity. So what was going
on? Was it really just the wedding that was taking up all
her time? Or was there something else she wasn't telling
him about?
His drink arrived along with a dish of olives and
pistachios. He watched the waitress walk away, her
long, willowy legs moving gracefully through the tables.
He guessed she was an actress, most of them were, and
the slinky movements were no doubt for his benefit,
since she'd called him by name, so obviously knew who
he was. She turned and glanced back over her shoulder
and, catching him watching her, treated him to a smile
that offered all he could ever want. He looked quickly
away. Christ, there was so much sex on offer in this town
it could drive a man to celibacy.
Clicking on his phone as it rang, he took a call from
Maggie telling him to get in touch with the World Wide
lawyers right away. Guessing from the tone of her voice
what the call would be about, he rapidly dialled the
number and was put straight through to George Cohen.
'OK, Michael,' the spirited eighty-year-old lawyer
began, 'fasten your seat-belt, because this ride's about to
really take off.'
'Miramax?' Michael said, feeling the excitement start
to pound.
'If you're prepared to sign by midday tomorrow,'
Cohen said, 'then they'll go two higher than Fox
Searchlight.'
'You're kidding me,' Michael gasped. 'They're
offering ten million dollars?'
'You got it. So what do I tell them?'
'That they've got themselves a deal.' Michael laughed.
'Jesus Christ, George. How did this happen?'
'Oh, I guess the fact that I know one of the Weinstein
brothers might have helped a bit,' he said modestly.
'And they believe in the project, son. And after what I
told them about you, they believe in you too.'
Michael was momentarily too overcome to speak. He
hadn't known this man for more than six months, yet
Cohen was prepared to do this for him.
'So, I'm filling up the pen with ink,' Cohen said. 'I'll
expect you at eleven tomorrow.'
'It's a date.' Michael told him, and rang off.
He sat for a moment, taking in exactly what this
massive investment was going to mean. To begin with,
they could go ahead with the building of the sets, lay
down provisional shoot dates, start searching for
locations, offer pay or play contracts and hire themselves
a major publicity firm to start work on the prerelease
promotions. In fact there were a thousand things
they could set in motion now, and he could barely take
in how eminently possible it had all become. Then it
started to feel overwhelming, even a little unnerving.
There would be no backing out now, not that he had any
intention of that, but being this locked in was much
more sobering than he'd expected.
Picking up the phone he quickly dialled Ellen's
number again. She was going to be every bit as excited and
stunned - as he was, and there was no-one else in
the world he wanted to share this moment with more
than her. But she'd turned her phone off, and when he
tried the wedding organizer's number he was told she'd
already left.
He tried to think who else he should call, but for some
reason he could no longer get his mind to focus on this,
as, out of nowhere, he was recalling what Sandy had
told him about Ellen during his recent trip to London.
He hadn't given it much thought since, for the idea of
Ellen as some kind of aspiring megalomaniac had
seemed just too absurd. But lately it was starting to
appear much less so. After all, she was pretty much in
charge of the movie now, was getting the final say on the
script, and had managed to change Tom's mind about
Michelle. She was also the one who was in contact with
Richard Conway's people, who attended most of the
meetings with the producers, showed up for a lot of the
castings and talked daily on the phone with Vic Warren.
Added to that she was as involved as he was with the
running of ATI, so had a hand in just about all the
packaging that was going on in the agency, and as far as
the wedding was concerned he couldn't think of a single
decision that had been his. So maybe Sandy was right,
she was some kind of control freak, and because of it she
was coming pretty close to burning herself out. It would
certainly account for the emotional outbursts and loss of
appetite lately, in fact it could easily provide the answers
to a whole lot of things that were going on right now.
Sighing, he took another sip of his drink. It was pretty
sobering to be finding out you didn't know the woman
you loved right on the eve of your wedding. Not that he
was considering calling it off; everything was arranged
now, and, goddamnit, he loved her no matter what her
faults. But if it carried on this way, with Ellen struggling
to gain more and more control, instead of husband and
wife they would be arch-rivals for a company whose
majority shareholder was a man Ellen had lately been
seeing a great deal of.
Just the thought of Ted Forgon made him uneasy, for
the statute of limitations was fast winding down, and
Michael couldn't be certain which way the old man
would go when he finally came out from under the
threat of jail. One thing was certain, he wasn't going to
view Michael as his very best chum, nor was he likely to
knuckle under and take some kind of consultancy role.
Forgon was used to being the boss, and the minute that
limitation ran dry, the driver's seat would be right
where he was heading. And there would be a few old
scores to settle then, so just what was Ellen doing
making up to the old boy now, when, of all people, she
was the one Michael was going to need on his side?
Chapter 12

For the moment Ellen and Tom were the only ones at the
table, as Matty had gone to the ladies' room, while
Michael went to wake up Sandy with the good news
about Miramax. This was far from being the first time
they'd been alone since the night they'd made love, for
they'd had several script sessions in the past few weeks
- which they'd now relocated to one of the ATI
conference rooms - and Tom often stopped by the office
to pick Ellen up and take her over to Paramount for the
endless number of production meetings they were both
required to attend.
So the early awkwardness had already been dealt
with and Ellen would forever be grateful to him for the
way he had handled things, assuring her that Michael
would never learn what had happened from him, and
that as far as he was concerned it was already forgotten.
She'd laughed at that, and, realizing how ungallant it
must have sounded, he'd winked and told her that were
the circumstances any different there was just no way
he'd be giving her the benefit of his selective amnesia.
Since that day they'd never spoken of it again, and
though the attraction she'd felt before seemed to have
gone, she sometimes wondered if it was the same for
him. But that wasn't something she was going to get into, for it could simply be her ego at work, still wanting
to be admired even though she had no desire
whatsoever to be unfaithful to Michael again.
But despite how loving and attentive Michael had
been since that night, or how euphoric they both were
now, knowing that the movie was going to go ahead
much sooner than they'd even dared to hope, there was
no getting away from the fact that things between them
had changed. And in her bleaker moments she was
terrified they would never be the same again. The problem
was, the trust had gone. Perhaps if he'd confessed
what had happened with Michelle she'd be finding it
easier to deal with, except that was crazy, for the last
thing she wanted was to be forced into confessing herself.
So what the hell she was supposed to do about the
way things were she had no idea, for though she
desperately wanted everything to be right again, there
was a very strong part of her that was still so damned
angry that she almost took pleasure in pushing him
away. She'd even considered calling off the wedding,
though the thought of it filled her with panic. But it was
there, on her mind, every minute of the day, and after
what had happened with Robbie earlier, she wondered
if she wasn't a whole lot closer to leaving than she'd
realized.
Michael didn't know about it, and she didn't want to
tell him, for the last time Robbie had backchatted her
Michael had smacked him, which had done nothing at
all to help matters. Robbie saw her as the enemy now,
the horrible, evil woman who was coming between his
mom and dad and ruining all their lives. He'd told her
that this evening, right after he'd told her how much he
hated her and that he never wanted her coming into his
room again. And he wasn't coming to the wedding, he
was going to stay here with his mom, because she was
the only one who loved him. After that he'd slammed his
door in her face and though she'd heard him sobbing
into his pillow, she'd known that she couldn't be the one
to comfort him. So Lucina had gone in, and it had hurt
Ellen terribly to hear him pleading with Lucina to make
Ellen go away so that his dad could marry his mom.
'Listen, I don't want to get personal here,' Chambers
said, breaking into her thoughts, 'but you haven't heard
a word I've been saying, and frankly, you look terrible.
Beautiful,' he smiled, 'but terrible.'
Ellen forced a smile too. 'Thank you,' she said.
He looked into her eyes and let the humour fade as he
saw how troubled she really was.
She turned sharply away. 'It's OK,' she said. 'I'm just
tired, and stressed with the wedding.'
His eyes stayed with her, though she refused to meet
them. It went much deeper than that, he could tell, but
he didn't blame her for not wanting to open up to him.
Besides, now was hardly the time, as Michael and Sandy
were heading towards the table and finding Ellen with
tears in her eyes was going to look odd enough, without
encouraging her to break down.
Getting to his feet he watched Sandy as she looked
first at Ellen, then at him. Had she noticed the tears, he
wondered, or had Ellen managed to blink them away?
'Tom, this is Sandy Paull,' Michael said, as Tom
reached out to shake Sandy's hand.
'It's good to meet you, Sandy,' he said. 'I've heard a lot
about you.' but no-one, he was thinking to himself, had
told him how young she was.
Her turquoise eyes were shining with interest as she
looked back at him. 'Probably not as much as I've heard
about you,' she smiled.
'Hi Sandy,' Ellen said, getting up to embrace her.
'How are you? Exhausted, I imagine.'
'Better now I've had a sleep.' Sandy assured her,
tearing her eyes from Tom. 'And thrilled about the
Miramax news. I'm wondering if you and Michael have
got time for a wedding now, with all that's going to start
coming up?'
Ellen glanced at Michael and, seeing how doubtful he
was of her answer, she just wanted to put her arms
around him and ask him to take her home. 'It's our first
priority,' she said, sitting down again as Matty joined
them. 'This is my cousin, Matty Shelby.'
'It's nice to meet you, Matty,' Sandy said. 'I expect
you're up to your ears in wedding plans too.'
'Oh, it went past my ears days ago,' Matty laughed.
'Hi, and welcome to LA. This isn't your first time
though, is it?'
'No,' Sandy answered, as she sat in the chair Michael
was holding out for her. She glanced up to thank him, but
his eyes were on Ellen and Sandy watched as he sat down
next to her and covered her hand with his. When she
looked up again it was straight into Tom Chambers's eyes
and she felt herself colour at what he might have deduced
from the way she'd watched Michael and Ellen. But there
was no way he could detect the envy in her heart, and as
she was still smiling there was a chance she'd shown
nothing more than a distracted kind of interest.
'I read the latest rewrites, coming over on the plane,'
she said, glancing at Ellen then back at Tom. 'It's really
starting to take shape. I'm intrigued to know how you're
going to end it.'
Ellen was frowning. 'I didn't know you'd read the
script,' she said, turning to Michael.
Sandy looked at Michael too. Obviously he hadn't told
her, but she'd thought it was just her producership they
were keeping under wraps, had no idea she wasn't
supposed to have read the script either. Still, Ellen had to
find out some time, and Sandy was pleased to be here to
witness the response.
'I'm keeping Sandy up to date with it,' Michael said,
'so that she's got some idea what she's talking about
when she goes about raising money in Europe.'
'But you had the publicity package,' Ellen protested.
'It gives a full synopsis, biographies of Tom and Rachel,
who's playing the lead ...'
'It's not the same as seeing the script,' he told her,
obviously annoyed at being put on the defensive, and
desperate to get off the subject.
Ellen looked at Tom.
Tom shrugged. 'Well, since Sandy likes it so much,' he
said, 'I guess there's no harm done.'
Sandy smiled and sensed immediately how furious
Ellen was that Tom had taken her side. Then she looked
at Michael who was clearly still annoyed. 'I'm sorry,' she
said, 'I didn't realize I wasn't supposed to have read the
script.'
'No, don't apologize,' he told her. 'As one of the
executive directors of World Wide, you had every right
to. And as one of the movie's producers it would have
been very strange if you hadn't.'
Sandy's eyes returned to Ellen who was looking at
Michael as though he'd just slapped her. 'I'm sorry,' she
said, 'but I didn't know that Sandy was one of the
producers.'
'Since she's helping to raise the finance,' Michael
responded, 'I think a producer's credit is the very least
we can give her.'
It was clear that Ellen was having a hard time
controlling her temper. 'Does that mean Mark Bergin in
Sydney, and Chris Ruskin in New York are also getting
producer credits?' she asked.
'Of course,' he answered. 'Why would I give it to
Sandy and not to them, when they're bringing in finance
too?'
'Why would you give it to anyone without discussing
it with me?' she retorted.
Michael looked awkwardly around the table. 'I don't
think now's the time for this,' he said.
'Where's the waiter?' Tom said. 'Is everyone up for
champagne, after all, we're supposed to be celebrating.'
'Excuse me,' Ellen said, and got abruptly to her feet.
Matty watched her walk away, then looking across at
Michael she felt her heart go out to him, for as angry as
he was, she could see how horribly perplexed he was
too. And, she had to confess, so was she, for she'd spent
the past couple of hours at the wedding arranger's with
Ellen, and it was clear to Matty that Ellen was in a
terrible way. There hadn't really been any opportunity
to talk, but after the way she had snapped at the
organizer, the emotional state she had worked herself
into on the way here, and now seeing how angry she was
with Michael, Matty resolved to get to the bottom of
what was eating her. Of course, Michael making love to
Michelle had to be featuring in there somewhere, so
must the way Ellen had hit back with Tom, but if Ellen
was having such a hard time holding it in like this, then
it seemed they were going to have to find a way of
dealing with it, instead of just pretending it hadn't
happened.
As Ellen came back Sandy happened to glance over at
Chambers. The tears in Ellen's eyes hadn't escaped her
when she'd first arrived, and now, unless she was
imagining things, Tom's concern went some way
beyond mere politeness. In fact, for a moment there, he
seemed genuinely worried, and given how pale and
exhausted Ellen looked, Sandy wasn't having too much
trouble coming to a conclusion that was pleasing her
immensely. Something was going on between those two,
and with any luck it was of a pretty serious nature.
By the time their food was ordered and brought Ellen
was feeling much calmer and was actually starting to
enjoy herself. The talk now was mainly of the wedding,
and finding herself able, if only briefly, to let go of her
nerves, she was making them all laugh with the chaos
that had taken over her days. As she talked she entwined
her fingers through Michael's, probably drank a little too
much wine, and avoided eating any real amount of food.
Her appetite had been erratic for a couple of weeks now,
which she knew was normal before a wedding, and
she'd certainly had no objection to her dress being taken
in another inch earlier that day. She just knew how much
Michael would love the dress, and what she was
planning to wear underneath, and the thought of how
much pleasure she was going to give him suddenly
filled up her heart and pushed tears to her eyes.
'Oh God, I've been like this for days,' she laughed,
using a napkin to dab her cheeks.
'Weeks,' Michael corrected.
'It just suddenly comes over me,' she said, turning to
kiss him. 'It's not that I'm depressed, I'm just . . .
emotional, I guess.' Then lowering her voice she said, 'I
can't wait till we're on honeymoon.'
'Then don't let's,' he murmured.
Smiling, she leaned against him and turned back to
the others, listening as Sandy and Matty questioned
Tom about his work as a journalist, wanting to know all
about the different wars he had covered, the hardships,
massacres, tyrannies and famines. She guessed that he
was embroidering some of his tales to make for better
listening, and then she started to think of how terribly
sad it was that he had lost Rachel and never loved again
since. But after watching Sandy for a while, she could at
least be sure that he wasn't going to be short of a bed
partner for the next couple of weeks.
Though the thought of that didn't make Ellen jealous
exactly, she wasn't as happy about it as she might have
been, for she didn't like Sandy, and certainly didn't
think she was good enough for Tom. But if it kept her
out of Michael's way, then Ellen guessed that was fine
by her. And Tom could look after himself. He'd soon see
through Sandy, if he hadn't already, for she was just a
scheming little bitch who would screw anyone in an
effort to get what she wanted. And, unless Ellen was
greatly mistaken, she was about to make Tom her next
target in order to gain more control of the movie. Well,
that was going to happen over Ellen's dead body.
Turning back to Michael she looked up at him,
scanning his face and squeezing harder on his hand.
There seemed to be so much going round in her head at
the moment that she couldn't cope with all the added
stress Sandy was bringing, and suddenly wanting
desperately to be alone with Michael she quietly
suggested they leave.
They weren't far from the Four Seasons when Ellen
asked him to pull over.
He glanced at her in surprise. 'Are you OK?' he asked.
'I just want you to hold me,' she answered.
Immediately he steered the car over to the kerb and
pulled her into his arms. 'Are you sure you're OK?' he
said, holding her tight.
'Sure.' Her eyes were closed and once again she could
feel her heart flooding with emotion. 'Do you love me?'
she whispered. 'I mean really, really love me?'
'Oh God, you know I do,' he told her.
'You won't let anything come between us?'
'Never,' he swore.
She pulled back to look into his eyes. 'Are you sure
you want to marry me?'
'Sure,' he smiled, stroking her hair back from her face.
'You don't love anyone else?'
'No. Only you.'
'Not Michelle?'
'Not Michelle.'
'Or Sandy?'
He laughed. 'Or Sandy.'
She gazed at him anxiously, as though searching for
something she was unable to find. In the end he lifted
her mouth to his and kissed her deeply.
'In less than a fortnight this circus'll be over,' he said,
'and then for two whole weeks it'll be just us.'
Her head went down. 'I wish it could be over now,'
she whispered.
Putting his fingers under her chin he raised her eyes
back to his. 'We can get on a plane and go to Vegas right
now.' he said. 'Or I guess we should wait until we've
signed with Miramax tomorrow, but after that we can
get married right away, if that's what you want, and let
everyone have a party next Saturday while we're a
thousand miles away.'
She looked at him and he could see she was tempted,
but in the end she sighed and shook her head. 'We can't
disappoint our mothers now,' she said, 'especially not
mine when I'm the only daughter she has.'
'Ellen, this is about us,' he reminded her. 'Not about
anyone else.'
'I know, but whichever way we do this we're still
going to have each other, so perhaps we should do it
their way, if only to keep the peace.'
'Then keep that in mind,' he said. 'We're going to have
each other no matter what. OK?'
'Do you promise?' she said, thinking of Robbie and
Michelle and Tom - and so many other things that
would take too many words and too much heartache to
tell. 'No matter what?'
'It's what I said, and it's what I mean,' he vowed, but
as he kissed her again she knew in her heart that she was
asking too much.

This was Sandy's fourth day in Los Angeles, and though
the schedule wasn't really any more hectic than she was
used to, she was exhausted, and appeared to be coming
down with a cold, if not flu. She felt so dreadful it was all
she could do to drag herself through the meeting she
and Michael were at with Warners, and the minute it
was over, sensing how much she was struggling Michael
ignored her protests and insisted on taking her back to
the hotel.
As he drove she tried hard to concentrate on what he
was saying, but her throat was horribly sore, and she
was so groggy and tired she could barely keep her eyes
open. Breathing was difficult too, and it was only when
he brought the car to a standstill and gently shook her
awake that she realized she'd dozed off with her mouth
open.
She tried to remember what he'd been saying, but it
was escaping her, and though there were a hundred
things she wanted to say to him they were such a jumble
inside her head she just couldn't grasp them. Except
there was something she wanted to tell him about the
dinner she'd had with Tom Chambers last night. He'd
taken her to the Chaya Brasserie in West Hollywood,
which apparently was one of the places to be seen at - or
was it something she wanted to tell Tom about Michael?
For a fleeting moment she remembered that last night
had felt a bit like a date, which had been wonderful at
the time. It was ages since anyone had teased and flirted
with her like that, and she had to admit she really quite
fancied Tom, though today the effort it took even to
think of it was simply beyond her.
'You'll feel better after you've had a sleep,' Michael
told her as he helped her from the car. 'It's so damned
hot out, and with all this air-conditioning - it takes some
getting used to.'
Sandy looked around, blinked a couple of times and
felt vaguely bemused. The sun was like a white-hot fire
on her skin, even though she could feel herself shivering.
'Where are we?' she said.
'At my house. I hope you don't mind, but by the time
I get you back to the hotel, I'll be late for the lawyers.'
'No, that's fine,' she said, wanting only to put her head
on a pillow and tug the sheet around her like a child.
And minutes later, after slipping out of her dress while
Michael waited outside, that was exactly what she did.
'Are you OK?' he asked, putting his head round the
door.
'Mmm,' she murmured, snuggling in deeper.
'I'm sorry it has to be Robbie's room, but Ellen's
parents are in one of the guest-rooms, and my mother's
in the other. I don't know where everyone is right now,
but no-one should disturb you. Here,' he said, leaning
over her and flicking off the intercom, 'you won't want
your snores echoing all over the house.'
She smiled, and watched as he went to pull the
curtains.
'I'll come back for you in a couple of hours,' he said,
and as he closed the door gently behind him she could
already feel herself drifting into sleep.

It was late afternoon when Matty pulled into the
driveway of Ellen and Michael's house. There were no
other cars around, not even the Geo Ellen's parents had
rented. But the garage doors were closed, so there was
no telling who was at home without going to check.
Though everything looked locked-up and deserted, to
Matty's surprise, when she knocked on the front door it
came open. This unnerved her a little, as the last thing
she wanted was to walk in on burglars, but since Ellen
wasn't at the office, the dressmaker's, the caterer's, or
any other meeting Maggie knew about, there was a
chance she was here at home. If she was, she wasn't
answering the phone, but maybe she'd only just got
here.
'Ellen!' she called, looking through the huge sliding
picture windows to the garden as she crossed to the
study. 'Ellen!'
After checking the kitchen and den she walked back
across the sitting-room and opened the door that led to
the master suite. 'Ellen!' she called again.
Still no reply.
She glanced up the stairs to the guest suite. Ellen's
parents were staying there until after the wedding, but
there were no sounds to say anyone was around, so
Matty continued along the narrow hall and into the vast
muslin-draped bedroom that overlooked the garden
and pool. She felt a quick jolt of unease as she noticed
Ellen's purse on the bed - if she was here, why wasn't
she answering?
'Ellen? Are you there?' she said, going to the bathroom.
Her heart was starting to thud as she pushed open
the door, then she gasped as she saw Ellen standing in
front of the mirror.
'Oh God, there you are,' she said with a laugh of relief.
'You had me worried. What are . . .' She stopped as she
realized Ellen hadn't moved, then, following Ellen's
eyes to the narrow white tube lying on the marble
counter in front of her, she felt her heart turn inside out.
'Oh my God,' she murmured. 'Please tell me that's not
what I think it is.'
Ellen didn't answer, and for a moment Matty could
only stare at her. It was true she'd had her suspicions,
but she guessed, like Ellen, she hadn't wanted even to
think them. But now here was the evidence, staring them
right in the face, and even Matty could feel the world
starting to fold.
Going to Ellen she turned her round and held her
fiercely in her arms. 'It's all right,' she said. 'It's going to
be all right. We'll work it out.'
Ellen didn't move. Her arms hung limply at her sides,
her eyes stared vacantly ahead.
'Ellen, listen to me. Listen,' Matty said, shaking her
gently. 'We're going to work this out, OK? It's going to
be all right.'
Ellen's eyes drew focus, but as she looked at Matty she
smiled the saddest smile Matty had ever seen. Matty
wrapped her in her arms again and as she felt her body shake with sobs, she looked at the pregnancy test and
felt the whole horrible nightmare of what it meant start
to engulf her. Of course, it explained why Ellen had been
the way she had these past few weeks - she'd suspected
this, but hadn't had the courage to face it. And who
could blame her for that, when she was just days away
from getting married and had no way of knowing
whether the father was Michael or Tom.
'Matty, what am I going to do?' she choked. 'Oh God,
what am I going to do?'
'Come and sit down,' Matty said, leading her towards
the bed. 'Come on. You're going to be OK. We're going
to figure this out.'
'I can't get married now,' Ellen said, her voice racked
with pain. 'I love Michael too much to . . .' She took a
breath. 'Oh God, maybe this . . . this is God's way of
making me let him go so he can be with Michelle and
Robbie and I won't be in the way any more.'
'Sssh,' Matty said. 'That's not true. For all we know
the baby's his, and if it is that doesn't make any sense.
When were you ovulating? Do you know?'
Ellen nodded and bit down hard on her lips as fresh
tears filled her eyes. 'It was right around the time I slept
with Tom,' she answered, her voice high-pitched with
misery. 'I slept with Michael the Sunday before, then
again the Sunday after. And the Friday in between was
when I slept with Tom.'
'It would be foolish to ask if you used contraception,'
Matty said.
Ellen closed her eyes. 'Do you think I'd be in this state
if I had?' she said. 'Oh God, what am I going to do? It's
going to break his heart. He'll-never forgive me, I know
he won't. But it's not fair, Matty. It's just not fair. He
sleeps with Michelle and gets away with it. And I only
slept with Tom out of some ridiculous fit of pique and
look what a mess I'm in now. It's just not fair.'
'I know,' Matty soothed. 'But there are ways out of it,
Ellen. I mean, you could always ...' Her eyes dropped to
Ellen's stomach.
'Have an abortion?' Ellen finished. 'Matty, I'm getting
married in five days. How the hell am I going to get an
abortion between now and then without Michael
finding out? And besides, it's just not an option. It can't
be. The baby could be his and . . .' She started to shake
her head. 'No, I couldn't do it, Matty. I just couldn't.'
Matty's eyes went down. As far as she could see it was
the only way out. Not that she really approved either,
but when needs must and all that. But Ellen was right,
she couldn't get it done before the wedding now, and
even if she could, there wouldn't be any hiding it from
Michael.
'His mother's so thrilled about us getting married,'
Ellen wept. 'She's been so wonderful ever since she
arrived. She's been dealing with Robbie and trying to
make things better there and . . . Oh, Matty, you've met
her. She's so lovely and sweet and adores Michael and
Robbie so much. She told me this morning how happy
she was to be getting me as a daughter. She hardly
knows me, Matty, but she's prepared to accept me . . .
She's even been talking about going to spend some time
with Mom and Dad on the farm in Nebraska before she
goes back to England. They're all getting along so well.'
She laughed through her tears. 'Well, you know the
Irish. Dad's taken them all out in the car now. They've
gone down to the church to get a look at where they're
going to sit on Saturday. They're so excited. Matty, how
can I let them down? And how the hell can I put Michael
through the shame of anyone knowing why we've called
everything off? I can't do it, Matty. I just can't do it.'
Matty sat quietly thinking, trying to imagine what she
would do were she in Ellen's shoes. In the end she had
to agree with Ellen, she couldn't call it off, so maybe the
answer was to deal with it all after the wedding.
Ellen's eyes were steeped in pain. 'But it'll be like
trapping him,' she said. 'And the deceit... I can't do that to him either, Matty.'
Matty looked at her helplessly, for no matter how
hard she tried she knew she had no more chance of
coming up with the right answer than Ellen did. 'Then I
think,' she said finally, 'you're going to have to talk to
him now and let him make the decision whether you go
ahead or not.'
Ellen blanched. 'Oh God, no.' she murmured, a
terrible fear darkening her eyes. 'Not now. I can't do it
now.'
'Well, it's either before or after,' Matty said gently.
Ellen looked frantically around the room, a hand
pressed to her head as she tried to make herself think.
'Not today,' she said. 'I can't do it today. Michelle and
Cavan are arriving tonight...' She stopped as her heart
caught on the thought of Michelle.
'Tell me they're not staying here,' Matty said.
Ellen shook her head. 'Vic Warren's got a house just
along the road. They're staying with him.' Her face
suddenly showed all the torment she was feeling inside.
'It's where Michael's supposed to be staying on Friday
night,' she added brokenly.
Matty inhaled deeply and wished to God she knew
what to say.
'I'd better get rid of it,' Ellen said.
Matty looked at her in amazement.
'The test.' Ellen said, getting up from the bed. 'I'd
better throw it away.'
Matty followed her into the bathroom. 'Where are you
going to put it?' she asked.
Ellen looked at her helplessly. 'I don't know,' she
answered.
Matty held out her hand. 'I'll see to it.' she said.
Ellen handed it over, then turned to splash cold water
on her face. 'I'm meeting everyone at Ed Debevick's in
half an hour,' she said. 'You know, the diner where the
staff sing and dance on the tables.'
'I used to be one of the staff,' Matty reminded her.
Ellen nodded absently. 'We're eating there before we
go to the airport for Michelle,' she said. 'Michael's
meeting us there.' Her face started to crumple. 'How am
I going to face him?'
'You'll do it.' Matty said firmly.
Ellen looked anything but convinced.
'You'll do it because you love him and because you
have to.' Matty told her. 'Now come on, dry your face,
brush your hair and I'll come down to Ed's with you.'

Sandy, lying quietly in Robbie' bed, had heard every
word of Ellen and Matty's conversation. It seemed that
the intercom Michael thought he'd turned off had somehow
managed to switch to two-way transmission.
For a long time after their cars had left the drive Sandy
lay where she was, stunned, not only by what she had
heard, but by the fact that she had heard it at all. It was
so utterly beyond belief that she could hardly take it in.
Yet the fortuitousness of it, as well as everything it
meant, was already working so fast in her mind she
could barely keep up with it.
There was no doubt now that she had the means to put
an end to the wedding, and were it not for the fact that she
actually felt sorry for Ellen, she might have laughed out
loud. Instead she made do with a smile and marvelled
again at the way fate had delivered the solution right into
her lap when she'd all but given up hope of ever finding
one. Indeed, all those attempts at poisoning Michael's
mind against Ellen, the lies, the deceit, even the self
delusion now seemed so pathetic in light of what life itself
had cooked up. So it just went to prove, if something was
meant to be, life would most assuredly deliver.
Her eyes closed as a surge of euphoria welled up from
her heart. It wasn't until she got up from the bed and a
dizzy spell overtook her that she remembered she was
ill. But whether it was the sleep that had helped her, or
this earth-shattering piece of providence, she had no
idea. All she knew was that she no longer felt even half
as bad as she had when Michael dropped her off, and
now she could hardly wait for him to come back.
Or maybe now wasn't the time to tell him. She
couldn't say why she felt that, except her instincts
seemed to be warning her not to act too hastily. There
were five days between now and the wedding . . . She
stopped at the sudden notion of standing up in church as
the priest asked if anyone knew of just cause or
impediment, and announcing Ellen's secret to the world.
Her heart started to race. The very idea of it was so
shocking and dramatic that she seriously doubted she
had the courage to do it. But it certainly had its appeal,
and after giving all her other options some thought she
might find herself right back at this one, so she wasn't
discarding it yet.
She soon realized that there were any number of
different ways she could play this, but after giving them
all a quick run-through, trying out her words, second
guessing reactions, trying to foresee the outcomes, she
still wasn't convinced she'd hit on the right one yet.
Then quite suddenly the perfect answer presented itself
with such ease and certitude that not even a trace of
doubt shadowed its formation. It was so obvious and so
simple she was surprised it had taken her this long to get
there, which only went to show that she probably wasn't
over her small bout of flu after all.
Looking at her watch she wondered if she'd catch
Tom at the hotel before he went to have drinks with the
director, Vic Warren. Not that she had any intention of
breaking the news on the phone, but maybe he'd be free
later, for dinner. The very idea of spending another
evening with Tom was exciting enough, without the
added bonus of what might come after.

Chambers's expression was unreadable, which, for
some bizarre reason, seemed to be making him even
more attractive. And the anger she sensed in him, which
she knew was directed at her, was increasing his appeal
no end.
They were in the garden of the Four Seasons hotel,
two cocktails on the table in front of them, and the
occasional stroller passing by. The evening sun was
dazzling, which gave her a good excuse to mask her
failing nerve with sunglasses. This was an extremely
delicate manoeuvre, trying to get him to break the news
of Ellen's pregnancy to Michael, she just hoped to God it
wasn't going to backfire.
When at last he spoke, his words did nothing to
reassure her. 'I want you to forget everything you
overheard,' he said, 'and I don't want you ever to
mention it again, not even to me.'
'But what if it's your child?' Sandy protested. 'Surely
you'd want to know that.'
His eyes became discomfitingly intense, and for a
weirdly horrible moment she got the impression he was
seeing a lot more than just her face.
'Do you want Michael to bring up your child thinking
it's his?' she persisted. 'Would you really do that to him?
Or to the child? Surely it has the right to know its own
father.'
'Listen to me,' he said, speaking in a way that made
her cheeks heat up, 'if Ellen says that baby is Michael's
then it's Michael's.' His eyes were boring into hers. 'Do
you understand what I'm saying? Are you getting the
message?'
'Yes, but are you?'
A bitter smile crossed his lips. 'Oh, I'm getting it all
right,' he answered. 'I'm getting it loud and clear.'
Brushing past that, she said, 'If you won't speak to
Michael then I think you should at least speak to Ellen. It
might help her to know you're prepared to stand by her
... I mean, if she needs it. After all, this is a terrible thing
she's going through, and she obviously cares about you
or she'd never have slept with you.'
He looked away for a moment, and sensing she might
be making some headway with this line of approach she
pressed on.
'I've seen the way she looks at you, and if you ask me
she's more serious about you than she's letting on.
You're an attractive man, Tom, I can completely
understand why Ellen did what she did. But unlike Ellen
I'm not about to marry Michael, and nor would I if I were carrying another man's child.'
His face turned hard again. 'We don't know that for
certain.'
'But surely the doubt alone should be enough to
postpone the wedding - at least until the whole thing
can be settled. And think about it, it's a pretty rotten
thing to do to a man, marry him when you don't know if
the child you're carrying is his or not. Come to that, it's
not a particularly pleasant thing to do to you. Not that
I'm blaming her, she's obviously in such a state she
doesn't know what to do, which is why, if you talked to
her, it might at least help her come to a decision.'
There was a long and difficult silence, until finally
Sandy put a hand on his and said, 'I know this can't be
easy for you, and believe me . . .' She stopped as he
suddenly got to his feet.
'Have the waiter put the drinks on my tab,' he said,
and throwing a five-dollar bill on the table to cover the
tip he walked back inside the hotel. To call Ellen? Sandy
wondered, or Michael?
Chapter 13

The organist was playing Handel's organ concerto No. 4
as the wedding guests filed into the Church of the Good
Shepherd on Santa Monica Boulevard in Beverly Hills.
Already sixty or more were gathered, many dipping
their fingers in holy water and crossing themselves as
they bowed towards the altar before moving into the
pews. Outside the entertainment press was gathering,
reporters and camera crews eager to grab as many
celebrities as they could before they disappeared inside
the church. Fashion correspondents and gossip
columnists were out in force too, for there were as many
designer creations floating up the wide brick steps as
there were potentials for rumour and speculation.
It was a beautiful hot June day; the sky was crystal
clear and the luscious green of the palms stood out
vividly against the blue of the heavens. Cars were filling
up the surrounding streets and as the clock ticked
towards twelve the bride and groom's closest friends
and relatives began to arrive.
Ellen's and Michael's mothers came together,
chauffeured in a long black limousine and escorted by
Vic Warren and Craig Everett. The rest of the McCann
Paull agents were in the limo behind: Sandy, Zelda,
Harry, Janey, Diana and a couple of assistants. Soon
after Michael's sister, Colleen, and her husband Dan
arrived, with their two sons, Charlie and Ben. Their five
year-old daughter, Tierney, was back at the house with
Ellen, realizing all her wildest dreams as she showed off
her cream taffeta bridesmaid's dress and headband of
small white flowers. There was a quick flurry of activity
from the press as they learned who the chic raven-haired
woman and her family were, then suddenly all attention
was focused on another black limousine that was
pulling up at the kerb.
As he stepped out Michael was laughing, and made
a comic show of trying to protect himself from the
sudden thrust of cameras and microphones. Cavan,
who was so like his older brother there could be no
mistaking who he was, watched in fascination and
tried not to laugh at the way their mother was scowling
from the door of the church. It was reminiscent of the
days they'd hung back from bedtime, or started
messing about with the other kids when they'd been
told to come inside.
Though they and the ushers were all dressed in long
black tailcoats and charcoal grey trousers, Michael's was
the only blue cravat and grey Paisley waistcoat. The
others wore lemon cravats and burgundy waistcoats. As
Tom was amongst the ushers he was suitably attired,
and was busy showing Ellen's friends and family to their
seats as Michael and Cavan made their way in behind
them.
The irony of being chosen to take care of Ellen's side
wasn't lost on Tom, but he showed only humour and
consideration as he went about his duties. From where
she was sitting in the sixth row of Michael's side he
could feel Sandy's eyes watching him, but he studiously
avoided them until the moment Michael stopped
halfway up the aisle to exchange some good-natured
banter before moving on to the front. That was when
Tom finally looked at Sandy, then turned away.
He knew she didn't understand why he was letting
this happen; he knew too that she'd wanted him to
confront either Ellen or Michael, so that no blame or bad
feeling would attach itself to her as it often did to a
messenger. But she stood about as much chance of
manipulating him like that as she did of Michael actually
dumping Ellen for her. No-one had ever told him about
her crush on Michael, but as it was as obvious as her
methods of flirtation, which, in their way, he found kind
of amusing, no-one had had to.
'Hey Tom,' he heard someone behind him call, and he
turned to find a couple of old photographer friends he
hadn't been aware Michael knew, sliding into one of the
back rows. He waved out, then glancing at his watch he
saw that it was already a couple of minutes past the time
Ellen was due to arrive. But that was OK, it was
traditional for the bride to be late, and besides, not all the
guests were seated yet.

At the front of the church Michael glanced at his watch
too. Next to him Cavan, looking like a rock star with his
long hair and three-day beard, started to grin.
'I reckon she's going to stand you up,' he teased, and
immediately flinched as his mother clipped him round
the ear.
'Don't be making jokes in church,' she whispered
loudly.
Michael was laughing. 'Great hat, Ma,' he told her.
'She said no jokes,' Cavan reminded him, and
promptly received another swift clout.
'Uncle Michael, can I have a ride on your shoulders?'
his nephew Ben wanted to know.
'Since when did you ride shoulders in church?' his
mother demanded.
Ben looked up at her in confusion, his little three-year
old face a virtual replica of her own. 'Is Tierney wearing
that silly dress today?' he asked.
'You know she is,' Colleen answered. 'And it's not
silly, it's lovely.'
'It's silly isn't it Dad?' he said, turning to his father.
'You said it was silly.'
'I said it was pretty.' he corrected hastily as his wife
turned her flashing blue eyes upon him.
'Is this our family?' Cavan whispered to Michael.
'We could be at the wrong wedding,' Michael
responded.
'You could be right,' Cavan said. 'It would account for
Ellen not being here.'
Though Michael kept smiling his insides were tensing
up. She was almost ten minutes late by now. He cast his
mind back to the night before, when he'd left her at the
house to go and stay at Vic Warren's. She'd seemed fine
then. Distracted, it was true, but with all that was going
on around her, and so much to think about, it was hardly
surprising. And when he'd called later to tell her he
loved her, she'd cried and told him how much she loved
him too. She'd even said she couldn't wait for tomorrow
to be over - presumably because she was looking
forward to them being alone together at last. But maybe
that wasn't what she'd meant.
Resisting the urge to look at his watch again, he felt
himself turn cold as the organist restarted the pre
wedding repertoire and behind him the guests
continued to murmur. He didn't even want to think
about what they were saying, for they too must be
starting to wonder what was happening. Maybe Robbie
had kicked up a fuss, refusing to be a page, or to get into
the car. But Michelle was with him, and if need be she'd
surely tell Ellen to go on ahead while she stayed back to
deal with Robbie. Then suddenly his blood turned to ice.
Michelle! What if he'd misjudged her? What if she
hadn't accepted that it was never going to work for
them, and had decided to tell Ellen what had happened
between them? Jesus Christ almighty, that was it! For
some unknown reason Michelle had got it into her head
to choose today, of all days, to ruin his life.
He glanced at Cavan, but there was no way he could
voice his fears to his brother, not when Cavan was so
crazy about Michelle - it would tear the boy to pieces to
find out she still wanted Michael. And he had to stop
thinking of Cavan as a boy. He was twenty-three now fifteen
years younger than Michelle, and ten years
younger than Michael, but that still didn't make him a
boy. He thought of the time, six years ago, when he and Cavan had spent five long weeks sailing the high seas
while he, Michael, had tried to come to terms with the
way Michelle had left him. She'd been pregnant with
Robbie, but her work, her vocation as she'd called it, had
still come first. Never, not even in his worst nightmares,
had he dreamt that he would go through that kind of
hell again. It had taken him so long to get over it that not
until he met Ellen had he even started believing he
could.

Sandy glanced at Tom who was now sitting beside her.
He was looking straight ahead, his hands clasped
loosely in his lap. He showed no signs of tension, but
he had to be wondering where Ellen was - unless he
already knew. Somehow she didn't think so, for he
surely wouldn't be letting Michael go through this
agonizing wait if he'd known that Ellen wasn't going to
show. Or maybe he would. He was so damned
inscrutable there was just no knowing what he might do.
She glanced at him again. He really was something
else. So dark and mysterious, and kind of intimidating,
at least while he was being like this. It was impossible
not to wonder what he'd be like in bed, fantastic, she
imagined, maybe even as good as Michael.
Suppressing a sigh, she turned her eyes to the front of
the church. She could only see the back of his head, but
it was enough to fill her up with sadness - and a bitter
envy of Ellen. It seemed whichever way Ellen turned she
was going to get one of them, Michael or Tom, so she just
couldn't lose. And to Sandy's mind no-one, but no-one,
deserved to be in that position, least of all a woman who
had betrayed Michael.
In the end, as the time continued to tick by and
everyone in the church became increasingly restless,
Sandy couldn't hold back any longer. She had to know if
Tom had spoken to Ellen; she needed to know if Michael
was about to be humiliated in the worst possible way, by
a woman who didn't even love him enough to remain
faithful.
She'd already drawn breath to ask when there was a
sudden commotion at the back, and the news that Ellen
had finally arrived swept through the church in an
audible murmur of relief. She was almost fifteen
minutes late and Sandy's disappointment was crushing.
Tom turned to her then and spoke so softly she only
just caught what he was saying. 'If you utter as much as
one word during this ceremony,' he said with a smile,
'I'll kill you.'
Sandy's eyebrows shot up, even as the colour suffused
her cheeks. Not for a minute did she think he meant it, at
least not literally, but the fact that he'd come to Ellen's
defence like that sent her resentment and hatred of Ellen
soaring to totally new levels.

At the back of the church, holding tightly to her father's
arm, her face hidden by a veil, Ellen waited for Matty
and Michelle to finish fussing at her train. Having got
word of her arrival the guests were starting to turn, all of them smiling, some waving. Then one of the ushers signalled the solo trumpet and organist, and, as the triumphant strains of Charpentier's Te Deum filled the church, she began the long walk up the aisle to Michael.
As she moved past the pews her heart was so full it
was difficult to breathe; she had never felt so much love,
nor so much guilt and fear. She tried to concentrate on her bridesmaids, Matty and Tierney, or on Robbie who
looked so handsome as a page-boy, even though he
didn't think so. He'd seen her crying earlier and had
been meek as a lamb ever since. There had been so many
tears that by the time she'd got into the car with her
father she'd felt utterly drained. But, having made the
decision to go through with it, she wasn't going to ruin
the day for Michael, so she forced herself to smile while
silently praying to God for forgiveness.
She was halfway up the aisle when she finally saw
Michael, and a moment's panic tore through her. But she
kept on going, and as he turned to watch her she felt the
love in her heart eclipse everything and everyone
around them. She'd known he would adore her dress, as
it fully revealed her shoulders and hugged her figure all
the way to her knees, where it fish-tailed out around her
ankles. But she could tell from his eyes that it wasn't the
dress he was seeing, it was her, and in there with his
familiar mix of irony and love she could see the relief. It
was at that moment that she knew she had done the
right thing in coming, for the pain she'd have caused
him by staying away would have been so much greater
than anything that might follow.
At last she was standing beside him and they were
facing the priest. Her veil was pulled back and her
flowers were with Matty. She listened as the priest
spoke, felt oddly faint, but willed herself to stay calm.
That morning, for the first time, she'd thrown up,
though whether it was anxiety and nerves that had
caused it, or the baby, she had no idea.
The priest continued to speak. Then Michael turned to
take her hand and as she looked up into his eyes he
began to repeat his vows. The only time she looked away
was to watch the diamond-clustered band sliding onto
her finger, then it came time for her to repeat her vows
too. Her voice was thin and shaky, but as her lips started
to tremble she saw the humour in Michael's eyes. It was
his way of giving her strength and she took it.
Then everyone was singing the first hymn; the lessons
were read, mass was held and the priest gave his
sermon. One of Michael's nephews complained he
wanted to go to the toilet, and someone at the back had
a coughing fit.
At last the final words of the service were spoken, then
turning to look up at Michael she felt herself fill with
emotion as his lips came gently down on hers and he
kissed her with all the love in his heart. Then he was
leading her back down the aisle, and everyone was
smiling and laughing, taking photographs and shooting
videotape, and she was looking at them and laughing
too, holding Michael's arm and feeling the euphoria
starting to wash over her. But the moment she saw Tom
it stopped, and as her smile began to wane she looked at
Sandy and felt suddenly afraid.
She turned away quickly, reminding herself that she
was Michael's wife now, and no matter how much
Sandy hated her, or wanted Michael, it wasn't that that
was ever going to come between her and Michael.

The reception, which was being held in one of the
magnificent ballrooms of the Four Seasons hotel, had
been going on for some time now. The buffet luncheon
was over, the toasts and speeches had been made and
Michael and Ellen had taken the floor. The band was
inundated with requests from the two hundred guests
and as the dancing became faster and more outrageous,
and the champagne continued to flow, many new and
sworn-for-eternity friendships were getting under way.
Ellen and Michael danced and danced, until finally to
a bawdy chorus of howls, catcalls and laughter they
disappeared upstairs to change, and lookouts were
posted ready to inform everyone when the happy
couple were ready to depart for the airport.
Certain his absence wouldn't be noticed, Tom slipped
quietly away from the party and headed upstairs to his
room. He didn't need to be a part of the group that saw
Ellen and Michael off, nor did he want to be there as any
kind of reminder to Ellen.
As he rode the elevator to the fourteenth floor he was
picturing the way she had danced in Michael's arms and
thinking of how lovely she had looked - lovelier than he
had ever seen her. The rich, honey-coloured skin of her
shoulders and the desire in her eyes when she'd looked
at Michael had reminded him of the night he had made
love to her himself, a night it seemed he was now
destined never to forget.
Unlocking the door to his room, he flicked on the
lights and crossed to the mini-bar. Instead of opening it
he stood with his hands on the top and stared absently out at the night. He was thinking of Rachel now, and
how different his life would be had she lived. Certainly
he wouldn't be here, reliving almost every day they had
spent together for the sake of a movie. In fact he couldn't
imagine Hollywood ever even touching their lives, they
were so much a part of another world. But he was here,
and as painful as the reasons were, and as much
pleasure as he took in the time he spent with Ellen, he
was under no illusion about his feelings for her. He liked
her, deeply admired her and desired her a great deal, but
he wasn't in love with her.
If the circumstances had been any different there was
every chance he might be, but he was in no doubt about
her feelings for Michael, and despite what had
happened between them that night he had no wish for it
to be any other way. Except now it was possible she was
carrying his child, and no matter what he tried to tell
himself, it did make a difference. At this stage he wasn't
going to explore what kind of difference, as he doubted
he could come up with an answer. What he suspected,
however, was that she probably hated him now for
being a part of the terrible dilemma she was in. Certainly
she had gone out of her way to avoid him these past few
hours, dancing and chatting with everyone, and only
pausing briefly to thank him for taking care of her family
at the church.
He returned his thoughts to Rachel, and wondered
what was going to happen to the movie now. God only
knew when, or even if, Ellen was planning to tell Michael
about the problem with the baby, but if she did and it
turned out to be sooner, rather than later, then Tom
didn't even want to think about what kind of nightmare
it was going to be for the three of them working together.
And there didn't seem much choice but to go ahead with
it now, for they were simply too far in to back out. Were
it possible, he would probably pull out himself, and leave
it to Michael and Ellen to produce. But this was Rachel's
story, and though he knew Michael would never turn it
into some kind of testosterone-triumph-over-crack for
the likes of Stallone or Segal, there was simply no way he
could allow himself to walk away from it. It would be
like letting Rachel down all over again.
Reaching inside the mini-bar he took out a bottle of
chilled champagne and a couple of glasses from the shelf
above. He'd noticed Sandy leaving the party long before
he had and guessed she was alone in her room, trying to
deal with what was probably one of the first truly
crushing blows of her life. As blows went Tom didn't rate
it particularly highly, but she hadn't experienced the
world the way he had, nor had she caused the death of
someone she loved. But that wasn't to say this was easy
for her, and considering how reluctant he was to spend
the evening alone, he reckoned they could at least have a
shot at cheering each other up. Besides, tonight wasn't a
night he wanted to be dealing with any more of the
phone calls from Bogota that had lately been coming his
way, so out of here was going to be the best place to be.

Sandy had stayed only until the speeches were over,
then, having other matters to attend to, she had slipped
quietly from the reception and up to her room. It had
been such a relief to get away, as being forced to watch
the way Michael was so attentive to his bride, so witty
and involved with everyone else, and so far from her
reach, had been almost impossible to endure. Her
single, burning hope now was that this baby would
blow it all apart. But it would only do that if it were
Tom's, and no-one would know that for certain until
the child was born. Which meant that the big question
hanging over them now was, would Ellen wait until the
birth to break the bad news to Michael - if indeed there
were any bad news to break - or would the pressure of
not knowing force her to break down and confess long
before that?
At first Sandy had considered it to be more in her
interests for Ellen to confess now, but after taking some
time to think about it she was starting to realize the
disastrous effect it would have on the movie, which was
something, as a businesswoman, she didn't want at all.
A lot of people had put a great deal of trust in her over
this project, and as she had no more wish to let them
down than she did to see World Wide suffer, she
realized she would have to think more carefully about
how she was going to play this.
It hadn't taken long for an alternative route to present
itself, and when it did she could only feel amazed that
she hadn't seen it sooner. Indeed she might have done
had Ted Forgon not been forced to cancel dinner the
other night, for it was seeing him at the wedding that
had reminded her what a perfect ally he would make. It
was just a shame she hadn't thought of him before, since
there was no doubt he'd have stepped in with pleasure
to tell Michael about the baby, then this galling spectacle
of a wedding might never have taken place. But perhaps
it was better this way, for if anyone had the power to
force Ellen and Michael to continue with the movie,
despite their personal problems, it was Forgon.
Today was the first time Sandy had seen Forgon in a
couple of months and the first thing she'd noticed was
that he'd definitely put on weight. Obviously the
overindulgence in Martinis and lack of executive stress
was finally kicking in, but at seventy-one he could still,
at a stretch, be considered a handsome man - though
slightly ridiculous with his woven mahogany hair and
dazzling capped teeth. The only accoutrement that was
missing was the bimbo - indeed it had surprised Sandy
a lot to see him with a woman who was at least his own
age. She'd soon found out that it was his sister from
Florida, the one who had nursed him back to health after
the major heart attack he'd suffered a couple of years
ago, when in true Hollywood fashion he'd almost taken
off to his maker while in the throes of giving it to some
secretary or starlet.
Getting him to meet her upstairs in her room had only
been difficult insofar as she hadn't wanted anyone to see
them leave, or to connect their absences. However, it
was unlikely anyone would as all the focus was on Ellen
and Michael, and a considerable amount of champagne
had been consumed by then. What they'd had to discuss
hadn't taken long: a few minutes for the imparting of the
information she had; a few more for what she wanted in
return, then a small added incentive for him to play it
her way.
They were at the incentive now, meaning that he was
sitting on the edge of the bed, trousers undone, while
she knelt in front of him and gave him the kind of
satisfaction he craved. She'd guessed there'd be a price,
and considered herself fortunate to be getting away with
this, as she'd desperately not wanted to go the whole
way. If it had come to that, she wasn't sure what she'd
have done, as it was well over a year since she'd last had
sex and she certainly didn't want to end that unhappy
state with Ted Forgon. As it was, the very idea that she
was up here doing this, while Michael was downstairs
celebrating his marriage, was so depressing she could
have wept. But that wasn't going to get rid of Forgon, so,
blocking all else from her mind, she threw herself into
the task with the same practised vigour she had used
during her days as an escort.
At last it was over and as he zipped himself up she
turned discreetly away and offered him a drink.
He laughed. 'Don't think I don't know you want me
out of here now,' he told her. 'And there's a wedding
going on downstairs. Let's get back to it.'
She shook her head. 'You go,' she said, closing the
mini-bar and turning to face him.
He cocked a single eyebrow and gave her a look that
suggested he might prefer to stay a while longer.
Beneath her pastel pink Dior suit Sandy could feel her
skin crawling. She glared at him, as though daring him
to ask for more, certain now that she would blow the
entire deal they'd just made rather than allow him to put
a hand on her again.
As though sensing this he laughed, and taking out his
wallet he dropped a ten-dollar bill on the bed.
She looked at it, then at him.
'In the States, hookers get paid,' he explained.
Her eyes remained on his. Not for a single second did
she show how deeply the insult had cut, but she did
have the satisfaction of glimpsing a momentary
discomfort as he very nearly squirmed beneath the
contempt in her eyes.
Tucking his wallet back inside his jacket he said,
'Right, I'm out of here.'
She watched him walk to the door. 'Before you go,'
she said, 'you never did answer the question - how come
you let Michael take control of World Wide when you
had it, and him, sitting in the palm of your hand? Or
should I say, what does he have on you?'
Forgon's shrewd brown eyes were sparkling with
humour. 'You've got to be crazy if you think I'm going
to tell you that.' he responded. 'But I will tell you this, it
isn't going to be worth diddly a couple of weeks from
now, so the information you just gave me couldn't have
been better timed.'
She looked at him and suddenly wished she could
take everything back.
His pointed white teeth showed in a grin. Then
rubbing his crotch he said, 'Great head, by the way.'
As the door closed behind him Sandy continued to stand where she was, staring at it and fighting hard to
hold back the anger and humiliation that was tightening
her throat. It was hard to know whom she hated the
most, him or the woman whose heart was thudding
inside her skin. He had no right to treat her like that, but
nor had she been compelled to behave like that. The
truth was he hadn't even suggested the incentive, she
had, though God only knew why when she loathed the
very idea of what she'd done almost as much as she
detested whatever it was that had made her do it.
It was as though she didn't trust any man to give her
what she wanted, without giving them something in
return. Yet she had given something to Forgon - the
information that Ellen didn't know who the father of her
baby was - and in return Forgon had promised to do
everything in his power to make sure Michael continued
to work on the movie. So there had been no need for
what had followed; no good reason for her to debase
herself like that, nor to have subjected herself to his
contempt.
Pushing herself away from the mini-bar she
unbuttoned her jacket and walked to the bed. The ten
dollar bill was still lying there. Throwing her jacket over
it, she turned back to one of the armchairs beside the
desk. As she passed the mirror she stopped and gazed at
her reflection in the pale orange light cast from a floor
lamp. Her blonde hair was slightly mussed, though
immaculately cut and highlighted; her turquoise eyes
glimmered darkly in their circles of sky-blue kohl and
her lips appeared pale and thin without their usual
coating of gloss. She wondered what people saw when
they looked at that face, and tried to work out what there
was to see. Some days she felt so displaced and alone,
and horribly cowed by the coldly determined woman
she had become. She almost laughed at that, for it was
odd indeed to think she intimidated herself - it was like
a dog running away from its bark, or a bully cringing
from his own fist.
Turning away she sank into the sumptuous armchair
and pulling her feet in under her she tucked her hands
inside the white silk straps of her bodysuit. Her skin felt
soft and cool and she tried not to think of the last time it
had been touched by a man. But there was no escaping
that longing, for the memory still lived so vividly in her
mind. Michael had made love to her in a way no other
man ever had. There had been no payment for her
services then, there had been only passion and longing
and an almost insatiable need for more and yet more. It
was why she had never slept with anyone since, for she
knew in her heart that no-one could live up to Michael,
or make her feel the way he had.
Hearing a knock on the door she instantly froze.
Forgon had come back to test the slut again. How much
would he pay her this time? Twenty dollars for the
whole way? Fifty to do it from behind? She was cheap,
so cheap. Not even during the days when she'd done it
to survive had she been so cheap. So why now? Why
was she allowing this to happen when she had risen so
far and achieved so much? Was there something in her
that needed this, that thrived on the humiliation and
indignity? Wasn't she worthy of real love and
consideration? Didn't she deserve what other women
had? For her everything was a fight; a ceaseless
challenge to win, a bitter confusion of morals, and
conflict of conscience. It was as though she was on a lone
and complicated journey to an end that would never
come.

Tom knocked again and glanced along the hall as
someone came out of a door further down. He was sure
she was in there, but didn't want to call out until the
couple coming towards him had passed and taken the
elevator to a place that no longer abutted his life.
They moved so slowly he could feel an irrational
anger mounting inside him, making him want to yell at
them to speed up for God's sake. It was rare for him to
feel such fury towards something so trivial, which
perhaps went to show how trying today had been much
more than he'd want to admit.
Turning his mind from the couple he thought about
Sandy and wondered what she was doing in there.
Sitting alone in the darkness; sobbing into her pillow;
staring out at the night; or maybe just taking a bath? He
was vaguely intrigued, and even a little uncomfortable
with his decision to seek her out, though he assumed it
was because she was on her own too. She was also, apart
from Matty and Ellen, the only other living soul who
knew about the baby, and certainly the only one he
could talk to. Except he had no desire to discuss, or even
think about, the unholy mess they were all now in. Nor
did he want to talk about Rachel, or the movie, or
anything to do with his life. So quite why he was here
was eluding him, unless the reason was no more
complicated than a simple need to communicate with
another human being.
'Sandy!' he called, knocking again as the elevator
doors closed. 'It's Tom. Are you in there?'
He waited, but there was still no answer, nor a single
sound from inside. So it looked like he had it wrong, she
wasn't there after all. Dropping his head, he started back
down the hall, and tried to decide whether he should hit
the bar or return to the wedding. He guessed the
wedding was the polite way to go, and as it surely
couldn't be much longer before Michael and Ellen left,
he shouldn't have too long to wait to make his
reappearance.
He'd already called the elevator when he heard
Sandy's door open. It was a moment or two before she
stepped out into the hall, and when she did he felt
himself starting to smile. Gone were the expensive high
heels, the designer jacket, and greasy coating of lipstick;
in their place was a strikingly lovely young woman with
an amateur kind of finesse, an endearingly unpractised
mystique and a truly great pair of shoulders.
Seeing the antagonism in her eyes his smile widened
and he held out the champagne and glasses. 'I thought
maybe you could use some company,' he said, taking a
step away from the elevator as the doors swept open.
She continued to glare at him, hard enough to stop
him coming any further, but not so hard that he turned
and got into the lift.
'OK, it's me who's looking for the company,' he
confessed, letting his arms drop to his sides. He
shrugged. 'I guess I'm being too presumptuous ...'
He assumed his best forlorn and abandoned
expression, then peered at her from under his lids to see
what effect he was having.
Catching him looking she struggled not to smile.
'I can sing,' he offered, and promptly broke into a
bawdy little ditty that caused her to laugh.
'You'd better come in before the men in white coats
find you,' she said, and turning back into her room she
held the door open for him to follow.
Returning to the chair she'd been sitting in, she pulled
her legs under her again and looked up at him in the
warm amber light. He was standing at the foot of the
bed, apparently assessing the room.
'Great place you've got here,' he told her.
She rolled her eyes and tried again to stop herself
smiling. 'It certainly beats the first room I lived in,' she
responded, thinking of the damp, grimy little bedsit
she'd rented when she'd first arrived in London. 'Not
quite up to your suite though,' she added.
'Ah, but I'm living here, you're just staying,' he
replied, by way of justification. 'So, are you going to help
me with this?'
Sandy looked at the bottle of champagne, then
returning her eyes to his she nodded. 'OK,' she said.
After popping the cork he handed her a glass and was
about to propose a toast when some kind of commotion
started up outside. He guessed the time had arrived for
Ellen and Michael to leave.
Going to the window he pulled aside the drapes and
looked down at the champagne-crazed euphoria. Sandy
came to stand beside him, and together they watched the
wedding guests swarm around the decorated limousine,
clamouring to get one final embrace or photograph with
the happy couple. More rice was thrown, so was
confetti, and the single women of the crowd called for
Ellen to send her gorgeous bouquet of white flowers
their way. At last she flung it high in the air, so high that
at one point it was closer to Sandy and Tom than it was
to the ground. Then it started to fall, and as three dozen arms reached out to catch it, Ellen and Michael quickly
got into the car.
The bouquet was caught by a young girl neither Tom
nor Sandy recognized but whoever she was, even from
where they were standing they could see her flush of
pleasure. Then all the attention was once again on the
white limousine as it started to pull away, dragging a
colourful and noisy arrangement of cans, ribbons, boots
and black cats behind it. Because of the tinted windows
Ellen and Michael were already lost from view, but
Sandy and Tom, just like the rest of the crowd who
trailed the car to the road, stood watching as it entered
the traffic on Doherty, waited for the red lights to turn
green, then began heading south along the lamplit,
palm-lined street towards the international airport.
Tom turned to look down at Sandy. Her features were
lost in shadow, so it was impossible to read her
expression. Tapping his glass against hers he said, 'Let's
drink a toast to me.'
Sandy blinked. 'To you?' she queried.
He shrugged. 'Why not? Do you have a better idea?'
She nodded. 'Yes. Let's drink one to me,' she said.
'To you?' he responded, as though amazed by the
notion.
She grinned. 'OK then, to you,' she conceded, and
lifted her glass.
'To you,' he chimed in, and waggled his eyebrows
comically as she started to laugh.
After taking a sip she moved back to the chair and
watched as he made himself comfortable on the bed. He
was sitting with his back against the headboard, his
elbows resting on his knees and his cravat hanging
loosely down his shirt-front. He'd left his jacket in his
own room, and his shoes he'd kicked off before climbing
on to the bed. It was really too dark over that side of the
room for her to see him clearly, but she knew very well
how good-looking he was. An image of Ted Forgon
suddenly flashed through her mind, and she felt her soul
sink at the knowledge of what had happened less than
an hour ago, right there on the bed. What on earth would
Tom think if he knew? Which would appal him more:
what she had done, or why she had done it?
'So what shall we talk about?' he said.
She shrugged. 'I don't mind. You choose.'
He thought for a while, and was about to speak when
she said, 'Aren't you even interested to know if that baby
is yours? I mean, doesn't it piss you off just a little bit to
think that she's gone off on honeymoon with another
man, while carrying your child?'
He didn't answer right away - instead he thought of
the way she had phrased her question, and how swiftly
she had gone from the possibility of the baby being his,
to the certainty that it must be. Another indication of the
way she tried to make things the truth simply by
declaring that they were. It was a strategy that many a
spiritualist would claim to have almost foolproof results;
though in this instance he doubted Sandy's self
delusions- had much to do with affirmations and
Universal feedback.
'Have you ever made a study of metaphysics?' he
asked.
Sandy's eyes immediately went down, but as she
sipped her champagne, stalling for time, he knew from
the faint colour in her cheeks that she didn't understand
the term.
'It's a subject that fascinates me,' he said. 'You know,
what it is that draws us together as human beings.
Whether there is some kind of supernatural force that
weaves its magic on us all, taking us through time,
linking us to the planets, the galaxy, the entire universe,
before reintroducing us to each other in future lives,
other guises, other conflicts or resolutions... I guess I'm
getting into karma now, but why not? Doesn't it interest
you to know if we've ever met before? Or what the
purpose is of us being here, now, in this room? Do we
have some unfinished business from a previous
existence? I wonder if you knew me when I was a
Vietnamese pirate; or if it was when I was a Parisian
whore?'
A wary humour was creeping into Sandy's eyes. Was
he teasing her, or had he already had too much to drink?
'It could be you had the pad next to mine on Mars, a
couple of dozen millennia ago.' he mused. 'Or maybe
you were the cat I chased when I was a dog in South
Carolina. I don't know, I just get the feeling that there's
more to us, here tonight, than the mere escape of a
wedding. Don't you?'
By now Sandy was grinning. 'If you say so,' she
answered. She knew, from the dinner conversation
they'd had a few nights ago, that she was out of her
depth with Chambers, for his humour was so much
more sophisticated, his world so much wider and
knowledge so much greater, than the narrow horizons
imposed by Hollywood and showbiz. But oddly she
wasn't feeling daunted by the enormity of his
experience, nor cowed by his superiority of intellect.
Instead she was feeling vaguely intrigued by all he could
teach her, and definitely flattered that he would choose
to spend an evening with someone like her.
'I've got to hand it to you,' she said, reaching out for
the champagne to refill her glass, 'you've got a pretty
neat way of changing the subject.'
He nodded as he thought about that. 'Yeah, I guess
you're right,' he finally agreed.
'So what about the baby?' she said.
He drained his glass, then looked at her. 'What about
Michael?' he responded.
Again she flushed. 'What about him?' she said.
'As far as you're concerned, what about him?'
'I don't know what you mean.'
'Sure you do. When are you going to let it go? He's
married to Ellen now
'Who's carrying your child.'
He shrugged. 'Maybe, maybe not. The only definite
carrying around here is your torch for Michael, which is
nowhere near as bright or as pure as you like to think it
is.'
Her face started to tighten. 'What. ..?' she began.
He held up a hand. 'Getting it wrong isn't a sin,' he
told her. 'We all do it, and then we move on.'
'You mean like you did after Rachel?' she snapped.
His eyes seemed hard for a moment, but she didn't look
away. Touche,' he responded, and getting up from the
bed he went to replenish his own glass. As he poured he
glanced down at her and noticed the delicate points of her
nipples through the sheer silk of her top. But he was more
interested in her vulnerability than her sexuality.
Returning to the bed he sat down again and looked at
her in the semi-darkness. She was staring at her drink,
but he guessed she knew he was watching her. 'Tell me
the three most important things about Sandy,' he said.
Her head came up.
He smiled and saluted her with his glass.
'Are you serious?' she said. 'You want to know the
three most important things about me?'
'It's why I asked.'
Though obviously still surprised, he could see how
pleased she was to be asked. He waited quietly as she
put her head to one side and thought. 'Well,' she began,
'there's my job. That's important.'
He nodded.
'Then there's ... Let me see, well I suppose there's ...'
She started to chew on her top lip. 'There's um, the
money I make.' She looked at him as though seeking his
approval.
Again he nodded.
Several more minutes ticked by, until finally her eyes
returned to his, telling him she couldn't think of
anything else.
He smiled. 'A lot of people don't even get past one,' he
told her.
She took a large sip of champagne and felt some
trickle down her chin. Using her fingers to wipe it away,
she looked at him again waiting for him to say more.
'You're in love with Michael, aren't you?' he said. 'At
least you think you are.'
'Why don't you believe it?' she retorted, failing to
keep the edge from her voice.
He shrugged. 'You wouldn't be trying to inflict all this
misery on him if you cared about him,' he answered.
'What misery?' she demanded, her guilty conscience
making her wonder for one horrible moment if he'd
spoken to Forgon.
He looked surprised. 'You're trying to break up his
relationship with Ellen, when any fool can see how
much he loves her.'
Her eyes moved away, but he could see she was stung
by his words. 'She was unfaithful to Michael,' she
suddenly blurted, 'so now she's going to get what she
deserves.'
'And you honestly think that's going to result in
giving you what you want?' he said.
Again she looked away. Her expression was
mutinous, but he had no doubt he was reaching her. 'We
don't always realize what we want,' she said finally.
'Bingo,' he grinned.
Her eyes were flashing as she looked at him. 'I meant
Michael, not me,' she snapped.
'Why should it be the case for Michael, yet not for
you?' he replied. 'But you're right, we don't always
realize what we want, and most of us are guilty of
wishing for things that aren't in our best interests at all.
Often we don't know that until we've got them, so it's
probably best to heed that old warning about being
careful of what you wish for, because you might just get
it. And believe you me, wishing the worst for Ellen isn't
going to work for you, no matter how it all comes out in
the end. Besides, you don't wish the worst for her really,
what you're wishing for is the best for you, and you
think that can only come if her life falls apart.'
Sandy was staring up at him. Her barriers were still
up, but he could sense them shifting. 'This is beginning
to sound like a lecture,' she grumbled.
He shrugged. 'Yeah, I guess it does,' he responded.
'And all I was trying to do was make you understand
what a wonderful woman you really are. Of course you don't think so, but you can't fool me.'
She sat quietly with that, enjoying the fact that he
thought so, even though she wasn't sure that he meant
it. She glanced at him once or twice, then, just for the hell
of it, she said, 'I used to sleep with men for money, or
whatever else I could get out of them. How wonderful
do you rate that?'
His eyebrows went up. 'We're not talking about what
you do, we're talking about who you are.' he answered.
'Aren't we what we do?'
'As long as what we do isn't a lie. You sleeping with
men for some kind of gain wasn't true to the person you
are.'
'How do you know that? Maybe I liked it.'
'Did you?'
She was about to lie and say she did, but then realized
she was just being childish. 'No,' she said quietly. 'I
didn't.'
'Tell me,' he said, 'how much do you like yourself? A
little, a lot, or not at all?'
'What kind of question is that?' she scoffed. 'I can
hardly say I like myself a lot, can I?'
Laughing, he said, 'I detected some kind of accent
then. Where are you from?'
'The Midlands,' she answered. 'Do you know
England?'
'Very well.' He paused and drank some champagne.
'When are you planning on going back?'
'Next Wednesday. I've got a few things to do for
Michael here before I can leave.'
He nodded, compressed his lips and frowned. 'You
know, I think I'll come with you,' he said.
To his surprise she actually jumped. 'What, to
London?' she said.
'Yeah, I haven't been there in a while, and I've got a
couple of weeks to kill before Ellen and I get back to
work, so where better to spend them than London? With
you.'
'You want to come to London to spend some time
with me?' She shook her head in bewildered suspicion.
He smiled. 'I wasn't planning on staying with you.' he
told her. 'Just on getting to know you. I could catch up
with a few old friends, there's a couple up in Scotland
I'm particularly fond of who I haven't seen for ages. And
maybe I could see Vic Warren while I'm over. He's
flying back on Monday to start the sound edit for his
latest movie, but I'm sure he could fit me in somewhere.'
Sandy said, 'Maybe you could meet some of the
investors too. I think they'd appreciate that. I'll call the
World Wide business managers on Monday and get
them to set up some meetings.'
'Sure.' he said, noting how the confidence had crept
back into her voice now she was on familiar ground.
She smiled, then lowered her eyes as he continued to
look at her. She wasn't entirely sure how she was feeling
right now, except excited that he was coming to London.
She wondered if it meant he wanted to sleep with her,
and if he did, whether he planned to wait until they got
to London, or do it now. She looked up, and finding him
still watching her she wondered with alarm if he was
reading her mind.
'When was the last time you had yourself some fun?'
he said.
A hint of wariness crept into her eyes. 'What do you
mean?' she asked.
He laughed. 'How old are you? Twenty-five? Twenty
six?'
'Twenty-six.'
'And when was the last time you went to a disco?
Took a vacation? Screamed at a rock concert? Looked
round a museum? Went for a picnic? Or did anything
that didn't involve work?'
She blinked.
'It's time you loosened up a bit, Sandy.' he said.
'You're getting old before your time, and there's nothing
in the rule book that says it has to be all work and no
play, no matter how ambitious you are. Nor did I ever
see it written anywhere that you have to dress like a
forty-year-old executive before you're even thirty.'
Her eyes widened in amazement. 'This suit is a
Christian Dior.' she protested.
'And perfect for a wedding,' he conceded. 'But I've
seen you all dressed up in that stuffy designer rubbish
ever since you arrived. It's for women twice your age,
and believe me, no-one's going to think any the less of
you if you tone down the make-up. In fact, you look
gorgeous without it, so I've got to wonder why you're
trying to hide your own beauty?'
He waited, but she didn't answer.
'So I guess we're back to you not liking yourself too
much,' he said.
'I never said that,' she protested.
'You don't have to say it,' he smiled. 'You've just got
to change it. You know, I think I'll take you shopping
myself. I'm no expert, but I reckon we could have
ourselves some fun.'
'My name's not Eliza Doolittle,' she grumbled, though
secretly she was delighted by the suggestion.
'God forbid that an American should ever presume to
teach a Brit how to talk,' he laughed.
She looked confused.
'Wasn't that what Henry Higgins did for Eliza
Doolittle?' he reminded her.
She nodded.
He glanced at his watch. 'It's seven thirty,' he said.
'The stores don't close until nine, so what do you say we
go get you something entirely different to anything
you've got in that trussed-up, expensive wardrobe of
yours, then go paint this crazy town red?'
Her heart was racing with pleasure. No-one had ever
taken this kind of interest in her before, and that it was
Tom was blowing her mind. The trouble was, she wasn't
entirely sure how to handle it. In a way she'd have
preferred to have sex. She'd feel more comfortable with
that. A bit more in control. Though something told her
she might not be in control where he was concerned, so
maybe the idea of shopping and clubbing was safer than
she thought. In fact, the very idea of shopping with a
man, which wasn't something she'd ever done before,
was extremely appealing.
'What shall I wear to go shopping?' she asked.
His grin widened and she felt her heart catch on how
devastatingly handsome he was. 'Do you have any
jeans?' he asked.
She shook her head. 'Not with me.'
Then show me what you do have, and if you as much
as reach for the make-up, the date's off.'
'Date?' she echoed.
'Don't tell me you never heard of a date?' he cried.
She laughed. 'Of course I have, I just didn't realize that
was what we were doing.' She paused.
'Well, get used to the idea,' he said, swinging his legs
off the bed, 'because that's what we're going to be doing
for at least the next eight hours, and if you tell me you
don't dance I'm going to sign you up for therapy. Now,
let's take a look at this wardrobe.'
It wasn't until well after midnight, as she twisted and
whirled and laughed and clapped in the flashing lights
of some overcrowded nightclub, that she realized how
many hours had passed since she'd last thought about
Michael. But despite the way her heart sank as she did,
she was having far too much fun to give in to it now.
Never having felt so good in her new short black
petticoat dress and knee-high, three-inch-heel black
leather boots, she gyrated brazenly towards Tom, arms
high in the air, then shrieked with delight as he scooped
her up and swung her round in a circle. For the moment
it didn't matter that it wasn't Michael she was with,
when the time was right it would be, and until then all
she could do was thank God she wasn't in Ellen's shoes.
Chapter 14

Gazing down at the gentle, persistent motion of the
waves was like gazing into her own heart. Each time
courage reached her, it was sucked away again by an
undertow of fear, a pressing need for escape. She was
two people now: the new bride who adored her
husband, laughed with him, played with him and made
love with him so willingly and passionately it was as
though they were discovering each other for the very
first time. And then there was the other her: the woman
whose deceit was eating her up inside, whose fear
watched the 'new bride' so jealously that she knew it
was only a matter of time now before it swept on to the
stage and took control.
It astonished her to find she could put on such a show,
that she could detach herself so completely from the
truth and pretend to be the woman she'd always been.
She'd done it at the church, throughout the reception
and now, for the past five days, here on her honeymoon.
Guilt stalked her constantly, but if it ever came too close
she reminded herself that all she was doing was living
her life the way it should have been - and would have
been had she not taken that single, insane act of revenge
that was now about to take its revenge on her. And it
would, because there was no way of avoiding it, no way
at all.
But why shouldn't she and Michael have these two
weeks of happiness? What was wrong with giving him
that when she was going to take so much away? Even if
the baby turned out to be his she knew how hard it was
going to be for him to forgive the doubt, and wondered
if in the end they would ever get past it. She hoped
desperately that the fact no-one else knew would help,
but even if it did, she just couldn't get rid of the dread
that once she told him the truth he was never going to
feel the same way about her again.
Right now she was standing in the small patio garden
of their Caribbean home, looking down at the white,
empty beach and glittering aquamarine sea. To one side
of her was the double hammock that Michael had tied
between two palms, where they often lay in each other's
arms gazing up at the sky. Because of the time of year the
humidity was intense, but this was where they'd wanted
to be, away from the rest of the world, yet still in their
own home. She looked down at the sun loungers that
were strewn with towels, tanning oil and the books they
were reading. For a horrible moment the image came to
her of him making love to Michelle on a lounger beside
their pool in LA. She pushed it quickly away. She had no
right to be jealous now, nor to use his betrayal to justify
her own. She had wanted Tom Chambers and when
faced with an excuse to seduce him, she had done just
that.
Walking across the red brick tiles and under the
flower-covered pergola, she stopped at a tub of
geraniums and began to pull off the dead leaves. As she
worked she almost smiled at the unusual spectacle she
would present, dressed as she was, to anyone able to see
her. But their small two-bedroomed villa in a secluded
bay on the west of the island was overlooked by no-one,
except maybe the pilot of a descending plane.
Occasionally strollers found their way onto the beach
below, but the hillside between was covered in giant
cacti and other trees and shrubs, enough to obstruct the
view up to the house. They were very private here.
Hearing the car come to a stop at the side of the house,
she left the geraniums and walked across the grass to the
two tallest palms in the garden that grew in a giant V
from the ground and soared so high in the sky that on a
bad day their green feathery tops were lost in cloud.
Standing between them she turned so that she could see
Michael coming, and leaning her shoulder against one
tree she reached out to rest her hand on the other. He
had taken many photographs of her here, striking just
this kind of pose, but none while she was dressed like
this.
As he came round the corner of the house, carrying
two bags of groceries, she felt her heart swell, then
weigh so heavily inside her it was as though she could
no longer support it. She loved him so much it went
beyond anything she could ever fathom or maybe even,
in the end, endure. And knowing how much he loved
her too turned the ache inside her to a terrible,
wrenching pain. She watched him, knowing he hadn't
yet seen her, almost afraid of what she would see in his
eyes when he did. Yet it was what she wanted, his
desire, his passion, his urgency and love.
Pressing down the handle with his elbow he opened
the door to the kitchen and disappeared inside. She
heard him call her name, then saw him return to the
door and look out. It was a moment or two before he
found her, but when he did it was as though the space
between them no longer existed, for the immediacy and
power of his response leapt through her veins too.
He came towards her, his intense blue eyes drinking
in the sight of her. This was the sexiest underwear she
had ever owned, and the very first time she'd worn it.
She wasn't sure why she'd chosen now, today, to put it
on, except she wanted to do anything and everything in
her power to please him - and from the way he was
looking at her now, there was no doubt in the world she
was doing that. The white stretch-satin bodysuit went
right up to her neck, where it folded over in a neat little
lace collar. The shoulders were cut away, so were the
cups of the bra, leaving her breasts completely exposed.
From the waist down there was no more to the suit than
the long thin triangle that barely covered her pubic hair.
The white garter-belt was made of the same white satin,
the stockings were also white.
As he reached her he stood looking down at her, his
eyes burning with all the emotion she had feared, yet
craved. His desire was so intense she could feel it knifing
through her too, and the need for him to touch her was
growing to a pitch she was finding hard to bear.
Resting his hands on the trees he lowered his head to
her breasts and taking first one, then the other nipple
into his mouth, he began to suck and pull and bite until
he had drawn them out so far they were throbbing. Her
eyes were closed, her breath was coming in short,
ragged gasps. He stood up and looked at her again, then
his mouth came crushing down on hers as he drew her
harshly against his erection, and ripped off his shirt so
he could feel the hardness of her nipples on his skin. Her
fingers were fumbling with his shorts, frantic to get to
his penis, wanting it in her hand, in her mouth, and deep
inside her. As she found him he groaned, and drew back
quickly as a sudden climax threatened to claim him.
She looked up at him, waited for him to steady, then
turned so he could see her from behind. Her back was
totally covered, her buttocks were totally bare. He ran
his hands over the soft, firm flesh, down to her stocking
tops and around to the front of her. Kicking off his shorts
he pulled her back against him, placing his penis along
the narrow thong of her bodysuit. Her head fell back on
his shoulder, and, as she looked up at him, he cupped
her face in one hand and brought her mouth to his. His
other hand had returned to her breasts, lifting them,
squeezing them and grazing the nipples over his palm.
Their tongues were as entwined as their hearts as he
continued to kiss her, until finally he lifted his head and
looked into her eyes.
'Do you have any idea how much I love you?' he
whispered.
'I love you too,' she said, then moaned softly as he
lowered his hands to ease open her legs. Obediently she
parted them, then gasped as he suddenly tore open the
bottom of her suit and pushed his fingers inside her.
'Oh God, Michael,' she murmured, as he began to
stroke her. 'Oh God, don't stop. Please don't stop.'
He quickened his fingers, while with his other hand he
pushed his penis down between her legs and began
slowly to penetrate her.
'Oh Michael,' she cried as he filled her. 'Yes, oh God,
yes.'
Her final yes was more of a scream as he rammed
himself into her. Very slowly he pulled back, then
rammed himself in again. She bent forward, using the trees to balance, but almost lost it as she felt the full
length of him plunge right up inside her. His hands
circled her waist as he slammed himself in, harder and
faster. The sensations were so fierce her knees were
turning weak. He held her tight, keeping her against him
as he soared towards climax. Then suddenly he pulled
out, turned her round and took her in his arms.
She lifted her mouth to his and only broke away to
pull the bodysuit over her head. She wanted to feel his
skin against hers, the coarse dark hair, the hard muscle
and sweat. She could feel the strength of his thighs
pressing through the silk of her stockings and wanted
them against her too. Quickly she peeled the stockings
off, unhooked the garter-belt and returned to his arms.
Naked, they lay down in the grass, eyes locked
together, as he entered her again and began to make love
to her with such tenderness and skill it brought tears to
her eyes. He knew everything about her, where to touch
her, when to kiss her and how to surprise her. She
watched him and touched him and yearned to become
part of him. Knowing she was going to lose him filled
her with such longing it was as though there was
nothing else in her. She looked into his eyes and seeing
him smile, she smiled too. She pulled his face to hers and
kissed him deeply. Then she rolled him onto his back
and sat over him.
His hands came up to her breasts, caressing them and
holding them, before descending to her waist, to her
hips and round to her buttocks. He ran them along the
insides of her thighs until he reached her and pulled her
wide open. Then his thumb was on her, rotating,
rubbing and pressing. She fell over him and clung to him
with her arms and legs as he laid her on her side and
came into her for a long, long time.

Later that evening Michael was on the phone to his
mother, then Michelle and Robbie, while Ellen cleared
away the remains of dinner and emptied what was left
of a bottle of Chianti into the glasses she'd left on the
table. They'd eaten outside on the patio, cocooned in the
darkness by the burnished glow of citronella candles to
keep the mosquitoes at bay. The moon was high and
dramatically clear in a black, starry sky and the sound of
the waves, soughing up from the shore, swept through
the perpetual buzz of crickets and seemed to merge with
the wonderfully romantic songs that were playing on
the CD.
As she sat down at the table, propping her feet up on
a chair, Michael said goodbye to his mother and waited
for Robbie to come on the line. Turning to look at Ellen
he winked, and pulled a sofa cushion out from behind
him. She looked lovely sitting there in the candlelight,
her hair clipped carelessly on top of her head, her lightly
tanned skin glowing more darkly against the pale peach
shades of her shorts and top.
She smiled back at him, then carried in his drink. He
was gently biting her thigh and making her laugh as Robbie suddenly exploded onto the line.
'Dad!' he shouted. 'Dad, guess what?'
'And what would that be?' Michael said, glancing up
at Ellen.
Brushing her fingers lightly over his face she
wandered back out to the table and sat down again.
'I got a commendation for my maths today. That's the
second one this week. And if I get another before the end
of next week I can win a red badge. I've got a blue one
now, because I've got two. And Mummy said if I get a
red badge we can go to Big Bear camping and I can wear
my badge.' He grabbed a quick breath. 'And Dad,' he
pressed on, 'guess what? I've got a new poster in my
bedroom. Maggie sent it over from the office. It's really
cool. You can see it when you come home. When are you
coming home?'
'At the end of next week,' Michael laughed. 'And well
done getting the commendation. I'm proud of you. If
you get the red badge then Ellen and I should be back in
time to come to Big Bear with you.'
'Oh yeah!' Robbie cheered. 'Mum! Dad says he might
come to Big Bear too.'
'How're Gran and Uncle Cavan?' Michael asked.
'They're OK. Uncle Cavan's teaching Gran to drive
your car and they nearly had an accident today, but
they're all right. Gran said it was Uncle Cavan's fault
because he shouted at her, and Uncle Cavan said he
wouldn't dare to shout at her, because she would hit
him. So she hit him anyway. It was really funny.'
Michael was laughing. 'Just as long as my car is still in
one piece,' he said, 'or I'll hit them both.'
'Oh, got to go now, Dad, South Park has just started.'
'Hey! Do you want to say hello to Ellen? She's right
here?'
Michael's heart sank at the silence. 'Robbie? Are you
still there?' he said, wishing to God he'd never made the
suggestion in Ellen's hearing.
'Yes.' came a small, sullen voice.
Repressing a sigh, Michael said, 'I love you, son.'
'Love you too, Dad,' he replied. 'Can I go now?'
'Sure. I'll call again in a couple of days.'
Putting the phone back on the hook Michael
wandered out to the patio and sat down. 'Sorry,' he said,
looking at Ellen across the table.
She smiled. 'It's OK,' she answered, hurting as much
for him as she did for herself.
'We'll work something out,' he said, circling his
fingers round the stem of his wineglass.
Ellen looked at him and longed to put her arms
around him, as though to protect him from all the pain
that was coming - pain that was so much bigger than
this it couldn't even begin to compare.
He lifted his eyes to hers and gazed at the candlelight
reflected in her pupils. 'I thought.' he began, then took a
breath. 'I wondered, you know, when you threw up a
couple of times before the wedding ...'
Guilt hit her heart like a stone.
'Nerves?' he said and gave a humourless laugh. 'I
guessed, but, you know.' He looked at his drink again,
then picking it up he took a sip. 'I don't know if having
any more would be the answer for Robbie. At least not
right now. What do you think?'
She tried to swallow, but her throat was too tight. 'It
might not be,' she said in a whisper.
Again his eyes were gazing deep into hers. 'But it's
not all about Robbie,' he said softly. 'It's about us too,
and...' He stopped and wiped a hand over his unshaven
face. 'Maybe it's too soon,' he said. 'Maybe we should
wait a bit longer, you know, with the movie coming up.'
'Is that what you want?' she said, barely able to speak.
'I want whatever you want,' he told her. 'I guess I was
just wondering, you know, with it not happening, if
maybe, when we get back, we should go and get
ourselves checked out. I mean, I know I've got Robbie,
but that doesn't mean it couldn't be me. Something
might have gone wrong between now and then. Something, you know, that's going to be easy to fix.'
Her eyes were burning, as she drew in her lips to stop
them from trembling. He was trying so hard not to
offend her, or to make her feel responsible, or
inadequate. She looked at him in the softly flickering
candlelight and loved him with every fibre of her being.
'There's nothing wrong with you,' she said, her voice
barely more than a croak.
He watched her, waiting for her to continue, but she
couldn't. Dread was taking over everything inside her,
rendering her incapable of anything more than the effort
to breathe.
'Are you trying to tell me there's something wrong
with you?' he said, a sudden fear in his eyes. 'Something
not to do with ... Something more serious?'
She shook her head. 'No.' she said brokenly. 'There's
nothing wrong with me either.'
As he waited she could sense his confusion, and
wondered why this was happening now when she had
tried so hard to avoid it. Two weeks was all she had
wanted, and then she'd have told him. She wasn't ready
to do it now. But the moment was here and no matter
how desperately she longed to escape it, she knew she
no longer could.
'What is it?' he said. 'Ellen, what are you trying to tell
me?'
The tightness of her heart was so intense she could feel
every beat as it throbbed through her chest. 'I . . .' She
reached for her glass, but didn't pick it up. 'You recall
the night you came back from London? You know, after
your last trip?'
She almost felt him become still and knew exactly
what was going through his mind.
She tried to smile. 'I came home,' she said, her voice
faltering on the words. 'I saw you with Michelle.'
'Oh my God.' he murmured. He turned to look out at
the night, as though somewhere there, in the darkness,
he would find what he needed to say. Then his eyes
returned to hers, and she could see his remorse as clearly
as she could see the unease. 'I know I should have told
you,' he said, 'but... Oh Christ, Ellen, I'm sorry. You've
got to know it didn't mean anything. It would never
have happened, but...'
'No, Michael, please, I just want you to listen,' she
interrupted.
He watched her face and started to reach out for her
hand, but she shook her head and drew her hand back.
She could see how much that hurt him, but it just wasn't
possible for her to tell him while he was touching her.
'After I saw you,' she said, 'I got back in my car and
started to drive. I'm not sure whether I knew where I
was going . . . All I can remember is trying to blot out
what I had seen, and it was like, if I went back over the
route I'd just come then maybe it would roll back the
time. I'd been with Tom at the Four Seasons, so that was
where I ended up.' She looked at him. 'I slept with him,'
she whispered, 'and now I'm pregnant.'
As the blood drained from his face she could feel the
world slipping away. The sounds of the night dipped
and rose, the hot, humid air closed around her face like
a suffocating sponge. She watched him and felt the
brutal tearing of the bond between them as though it
were happening as a real and physical wrench. Her
hands started to move as though they could somehow
put it back together, but there was nothing to touch.
They were drifting away from each other, having
nothing now to pull them back. She could almost hear
the ramifications of what she'd said as they began to
crowd in on him, and sensed his bitter struggle for
understanding as it sought the steady ground of reason
or logic. For one awful and strangely lightheaded
moment, it all felt like a dream, one in which she knew
she would wake up any minute, but just couldn't make
herself.
At last he moved, putting his hands to his head and
pressing down hard.
'Oh God, Michael, I'm sorry,' she said, tears spilling
unchecked from her eyes. 'I'm so sorry. I didn't. . .' She
jumped as he got abruptly up from the table.
'You're sorry?' he seethed. 'What, do you think that
makes it all right? Because you're sorry?'
'Michael, please,' she begged, 'let's at least try to
talk...'
'Talk! Are you out of your mind? You're carrying
another man's child . ..'
'I don't know that for certain,' she cried. 'It could be
yours.'
He stared down at her, his face so hard with anger she
could barely make herself look back.
'It could be yours.' she repeated.
His nostrils were flared, his lips were bloodless and
thin. 'No,' he said, shaking his head. 'Oh, no.'
'Don't say that.' she choked. 'You don't know ...'
'Nor do you,' he responded, 'that's the whole point.'
and turning away he started into the house.
Panic brought her to her feet. 'Michael, don't walk
away,' she cried, grabbing his arm. 'Please, not like this.'
He looked down at where she was holding him, then
returned his stony eyes to hers.
'Michael, listen,' she gasped. 'Please try to understand
'I
do understand,' he said, and prising her off he went
on into the house.
Ellen stayed where she was, her whole body shaking
as she put a hand to her head and began to look around
in despair. She tried to remind herself that she'd known
he would react like this, that she was prepared for it and
would be able to reason it through. But it didn't help, for
she knew now that despite her very worst fears she had
managed, in some kind of foolish delusion, to retain the
whisper of a hope that somehow it would be all right.
God only knew how it could be, because she'd never
been able to imagine it - it was just something, like the
blind faith of a child, that had stayed with her, but was
now being crushed so completely she was afraid it
would never come back.

He slept in the spare room that night. Unable to face
their bed alone, Ellen closed up the house and curled up
on a sofa. Hour after hour ticked by as she lay there,
marooned in the hell of her own pain, tormented by the
merest thought of his. She tried to make herself think
about the future and what they would do, but her mind
was locked in the moment, unable to move past the
anguish and despair. So many lives would be affected
now, but most of all theirs, and though she knew she
would find it in her somewhere to handle it, right now
the dread of going back to LA was almost
overwhelming.
It was during those dark and frightening early
morning hours that she began to consider abortion, no
longer as an option, but as an answer. The thought of it
scalded her eyes with more tears and sent denial surging
through her heart. She could consider it all she liked, but
it wasn't an answer and never could be, for no matter
who the father was, she was the mother and it was to her
that tiny little life would be looking for all the love and
protection it deserved. So how could she kill it because
of a mistake she had made? What right did she have to
make it pay for something it didn't even understand?
When dawn finally came she looked out at the
lightening sky and felt exhaustion steal over her. She
resisted the thought of a new day, but no matter what
she did time was always going to move on - the sun
would rise, night would fall and life and its disasters
would have to be faced. But not now, please not now,
when she had cried so many tears and suffered so much
guilt and remorse she no longer had the energy even to
keep her eyes open.
Though she slept, strange and doleful nightmares
swooped around her, taunting her with images that
scared her and pushed her fiercely to the surface of
sleep, but never through to the other side. She murmured
and tossed, and finally woke with a start to find
her limbs bruised and aching and her head throbbing a
blinding tattoo. Immediately she remembered why she
was there and felt a gulf opening in her heart. She longed
for more sleep, but was afraid of that too, not wanting to
return to the peculiarly heartless world of her subconscious.
Forcing
herself to her feet she went through to the
bathroom and cleaned her teeth. Then she looked at
herself in the mirror and saw the reflection of a pale,
haunted woman. She brushed her hair and snapped it
into a slide, then splashed cold water on her face to try
to bring back some colour. With each move she could
feel her reluctance to breathe. It was as though the
slightest breath might bring in more pain.
Trying to shake off her fears, she went back to the
kitchen to put on some coffee. Then she saw Michael
standing at the edge of the garden staring down at the
sea. Her heart somersaulted. She wanted so desperately
to go to him and might have done so, were it not for the
instinct that was warning her against it. She stood where
she was, allowing many minutes to tick by. She
remembered him once telling her where he had been
when Michelle had told him she was pregnant and
leaving - somewhere on the south coast of England, on
a cliff, overlooking the sea. She wondered if he was
thinking of that now, and smarting at the bitter irony of
the similitude.
She watched as he turned and came towards the
house. A cowardly streak tried to make her shrink back
and go hide in the bedroom, but she forced herself to
remain where she was. Hiding from each other wasn't
going to help, if anything it would only make things
worse.
As he came closer she could see he hadn't slept, nor
had he shaved or changed his clothes. She'd have given
anything in her power to spare him this, and silently
berated the cruelty of fate that had driven her to cause so
much hurt to someone she loved so much. He was
looking at her now, and her heart was thudding as he
came to the open door.
'Just tell me this,' he said, his face hard with anger, his
eyes suffused with confusion and pain. 'Why did you
choose now to tell me, when you could have done it last
week, before the wedding?'
She wished she knew what he wanted her to say so she
could give him that comfort, but all she had was the truth.
'I wanted to...' she began. 'But I couldn't find the courage
and . . .' Her voice faltered and despite how determined
she was to hold herself together, she could feel herself
starting to break. 'I didn't know how to tell you and . . .
and everyone was there... They were all looking forward
so much to the wedding, so were you ... I didn't know
what to do ... And I love you, Michael...'
'But you had to know I wouldn't have married you if
I'd known about this,' he spat.
His words cut through her heart. 'No, I didn't know,'
she said.
'Like hell!' he raged. 'You knew all right, it's why you
kept it to yourself. Because you had it all worked out,
didn't you? You knew what you were doing and to hell
with the rest of us. Jesus Christ, what kind of woman are
you?'
'Michael, please
'You know what's really galling me right now?' he cut
in. 'It's that Sandy Paull was right about you. God
knows, I didn't want to believe her, but boy was she
right? And what a goddamned, mindless fucking moron
I was not to have seen it for myself. She had you sussed
from the word go . . .'
'I can't believe you're saying this!' she cried. 'Sandy
Paull's got nothing ...'
'She told me about the lunch you had with her,' he
shouted across her. 'The lunch you told me you never
understood. You remember that one, don't you? The one
back before I moved to LA? Sure you remember it. How
could you ever forget when it proved such a triumph?'
'I don't know what you're talking about. Michael,
you're
His head came forward as his eyes blazed with fury.
'It was at that lunch,' he spat, 'that you gave her all the
information she needed on World Wide so she could
pass it on to Forgon. You were helping her to bring me
down in London so's you could get me to the States. It
was what Forgon set you up to do, and you had, how
many grand was it, resting on your success? So tell me,
did you get it? Did he pay you? I mean, I came, didn't I?
You got me there. So did the bastard cough up?' He hit
a hand to his head. 'What a fucking asshole,' he seethed,
"cos I've got to tell you, Ellen, I had no idea. See, I
thought you loved me. I thought I was coming to the US
so's you and I could be together and make something of
World Wide - together. I thought we were going to get
married and have a fam-' He stopped, and she could see
from the way his mouth was pinched how close he was
to tears.
'I didn't realize what a fucking power freak you are,'
he suddenly shouted. 'I never even guessed it, until
Sandy told me. And even then I wouldn't let myself
believe it. Jesus Holy Christ, how blind can a man be?'
'Michael, stop! You're wrong about all this,' she said,
her voice choked with tears. 'I don't know what Sandy
told you, but she's lying. You know she's a liar ...'
'What I know is what you told me last night.' he
seethed. 'And it all fits together. You want control, don't
you, Ellen? Of me. The movie. World Wide. Where the
fuck is it going to end? Is there anything, or any of us,
that you don't want to control? You're all chummy
chummy with Forgon again lately, and what a
coincidence that is, now the statute of limitations is
about to expire on him screwing an underage girl. He'll
be back in charge any time now, so where are you? In his
fucking pocket again, that's where. So tell me, what kind
of bargain are you striking up this time? You want my
job? Is that it? Are you sleeping with Forgon to get it, the
way you slept with Chambers to get rid of Michelle?'
'Michael, you don't mean any of this! You know it's
not true ...'
'You slept with Chambers to get rid of Michelle,' he yelled. 'And now you're carrying his child ...'
'No! I slept with him because I caught you screwing
Michelle!' she yelled back. 'So face some responsibility
here. We both made mistakes ...'
'Responsibility!' he laughed incredulously. 'I didn't
sleep with the man, and I'm not the one who's pregnant.
So if there's any responsibility around here it's all yours.
In fact, as far as I can see, catching me with Michelle
turned out to be a pretty convenient excuse for you,
because God knows you've had the hots for that man
ever since you laid eyes on him. So how long has it been
going on? Just what kind of a jackass were you trying to
make of me? I mean you got me to marry you . . .'
'I love you!' she yelled furiously. 'And I've never been
unfaithful to you except that one time, after I caught you
screwing Michelle in our house, when you had to know
I would walk in any minute. So what the hell was going
on inside your head that night? Were you thinking about
me? Were you hell! You were thinking about you and
how you still can't get over the woman who walked out
on you all those years ago. It makes you feel big to screw
her, doesn't it? It puts you back on top. And who the hell
am I while you're doing it? I begged you not to let her
stay in the house, but you overruled me. It wasn't going
to suit you for her to stay somewhere else, was it? You
had to show her you had another woman now, and her
son, and we were all getting along just fine without her.
Except we're not, because you still want her, and so does
Robbie. So where do I fit in? There's no room in there for
me. And answer me this, what if Michelle was the one
who was pregnant right now? You'd have left me at the
altar, wouldn't you? You wouldn't have cared less about
me.'
'But Michelle's not the one who's pregnant, is she?' he
shot back. 'You are. And unless I'm gravely mistaken
you're expecting me to pass another man's child off as if
it were mine. Well, dream on, Ellen, because it's just not
going to happen.'
As she watched him walk away she felt her stomach
starting to churn, and knowing she was about to throw
up she ran back to the bathroom. As she bent over the
sink she prayed to God that he wouldn't hear her, it
would be too cruel a reminder, too harsh a proof, for
right now.
A few minutes later she was sitting on the edge of the
bath, wiping the sweat from her face and waiting for her
heartbeat to slow. This was the first time she'd been sick
since the morning of the wedding, and she could only
hope that it wasn't going to turn into a daily event. She
had yet to see a doctor to confirm how far along she was,
but as she knew already that it was either eight or nine
weeks she hadn't seen the point in getting the nightmare
confirmed. But of course she'd have to, when they got
back, and knowing that she would be going alone was
too horrible to bear.
She looked at her wedding band and felt her heart
recoil from the jolt of emotion. This was how it was
going to be from now on, trying to deal with the pain
and self-pity, the terrible regret and inability to change
things. It wasn't something that was going to go away,
or get solved in a matter of days, or cured by the right
medication. She was going to have to live with this, day
in, day out, with no escape and no way of knowing until
the baby was born exactly who the father was. She
thought of Tom and how he would take it when she told
him. It wasn't hard to imagine him supporting her and
standing by her in a way Michael couldn't, after all he
wasn't the one she'd betrayed, but already she could feel
herself rejecting him, because even if he was the father,
he wasn't the man she loved.
Hoping a shower might make her feel stronger, she
turned on the water and stripped off the clothes she'd
worn all night. As she soaped herself she tried not to
wonder if she and Michael would ever shower together
again, or make love, or kiss or even sleep in the same
bed, for the dread they might not was too hard to face.
But surely to God he wasn't just going to leave her. He
was angry now, and hurt and confused, but once he
calmed down he would see how wrong he was in the
conclusions he had drawn: that she wasn't the power
crazed manipulator Sandy Paull had accused her of
being, that she had never given Sandy any information
on World Wide, nor had she slept with Tom in order to
get Michelle off the movie. It was exactly what Ted
Forgon had advised her to do, but that was Forgon's
answer to everything. It was a bitter pill to accept that it
had worked, but no matter what was going on in her
subconscious that night, getting rid of Michelle hadn't
been her driving reason for sleeping with Tom.
But what did it matter what her reasons were? It was
done, and the consequences must now be lived with.
There wasn't only their marriage to think of, there was
the movie too, and as deeply as she feared the direction
Michael might now take, she knew that however much
it was going to hurt her she had somehow to persuade
him to talk so that decisions could be made.
The sun was high in the sky when she finally went in
search of him. He was nowhere in the house, nor was he
down on the beach, but the car was still there, so she
guessed he must have gone for a walk. She hoped it
would calm him, and give him the chance to see that
their marriage wasn't only about their love for each
other, but many other things as well, and most
particularly of all right now, to work out how they were
going to overcome the mistakes they had made that had
resulted in this.
She'd been standing at the edge of the sea watching
the waves lap over her feet for some time before she
sensed Michael's presence. She turned round and
looked up at the house. He was standing close to the V-shaped palms, too far away for her to see his expression,
but the way her heart was suddenly thumping seemed
to be telling her that maybe there was some room now
for hope. The fire had probably gone from his temper,
and it could be that he needed her now to show him the
way through this, to give him something to hold on to
that would help to make it all right. She didn't yet know
what that could be, but as she started back up the hill she
knew in her heart that the mere desire to work it out was
all it would take to enable them to make the first step.
By the time she reached the garden he had gone
inside. She walked over to the patio, then stopped as he
appeared in the doorway. As she looked at his face a
cold dread began to smother her hope and as he spoke
she could feel each word crushing her.
'We can't stay here,' he said, 'so I'm flying back to LA
tonight. You can come with me if you want, but when
we get back I want you to move out of the house.'
'But Michael...' she protested.
'I don't want to discuss it,' he barked. 'No amount of
talking's going to change things, so let's not waste our
time trying. As far as the movie's concerned I want you
off it. Vic Warren's on board now, he's the director, so
he's the one to work on the script with Chambers.
You've got other projects going, they'll need your
attention, unless, of course, you choose to resign. It's all
the same to me, but as of now, our marriage, our
relationship, is over.'
Despite the terrible hurt he was inflicting her eyes
suddenly flashed with anger. 'I thought you were made
of stronger stuff than this.' she spat. 'You're just going to
give up because you can't have all the answers you want
right now. Is that it? Well, what if this child does turn out
to be Tom's? It's mine as well, or doesn't that count? I
mean, it was me, wasn't it, who you were swearing you
loved all this time, who you could never get enough of,
who you never wanted to live without? I haven't
changed. I haven't suddenly become the monster you, or
Sandy Paull, are trying to make me out to be. I'm the
woman you loved enough to marry, the woman who
still loves you despite the fact you screwed Michelle
which was what started this whole nightmare rolling.
And I love your son too, because he's yours, because he's
a part of you and I love you too much to let the fact that
he's another woman's son get in the way. So where's
your love for me, Michael? What happened to the for
better, for worse? Can't you see how much this is tearing
me apart? Don't you care that it's hurting me too? That I
need you now more than I've ever needed you? Are you
really going to turn your back on me and leave me alone
to face the gossip and the humiliation when this could
very easily be your child I'm carrying? Is that how much
you love me?'
She could see the pain in his eyes and knew that, even
if only in a small way, she was starting to reach him. It
meant he still loved her, which she hadn't really
doubted, but loving wasn't always enough to overcome
the resisting. And he was still resisting, she could sense
it as surely as if his hands were against her, pushing her away.
'Speak to me, Michael,' she urged. 'Please. Tell me I'm
not wrong about how much you love me. Tell me you're
there for me, that you're not going to shut me out, and
make us both suffer in ways we probably can't even
imagine.' She paused and forced back the emotion that
was weakening her voice. 'I need you, Michael,' she
said.
Though his face was still strained, she wondered if she
hadn't seen his eyes soften before he turned to look out
at the glorious tropical expanse that surrounded them.
She was certain now that she was getting through to
him, that she was showing him how much their love
meant to them both, and how damaging his pride could
be if he let it. She thought of Robbie and how that very
same pride had stopped him seeing his own son for the
first four years of his life, and her heart turned over, for
it was a harsh reminder of just how stubborn he could
be. She wondered if she should mention it, use it to show
him what pain he caused himself by refusing to let it go,
but as she started to speak he turned back and as his eyes
met hers the words died in her throat.
'I don't think I can make love to you again,' he said.
Ellen looked at him, swallowing hard on the pain as it
rose up from her heart and fighting the terrible urge to
beg him not to mean what he'd said. 'Then at least let's
carry on living together,' she responded. 'We don't have
to sleep together, not until you feel right about it, but if
we're still under the same roof we'll at least have a
chance of working things out.'
His eyes remained on hers, but though he didn't
agree, he didn't disagree either.
'Michael, please, just think about it,' she said, 'and ask
yourself, do you really want to deal with all the gossip
and innuendo it would cause if I moved out? Can't you
see what a nightmare that would be, for us both? And
how's it going to look, us breaking up just as I get
pregnant? Do you really want to live through that kind
of publicity? God knows, it's bad enough having to deal
with this now, when it's just between us, think how
much worse it would be with the whole world knowing.
We should at least try to make things look normal, and
if you make me leave the house and then stop me
working with Tom, it's not going to take very long for some bright spark to put two and two together . . .
Michael, stop! Where are you going?'
He turned round, and she instantly drew back from
the contempt that was blazing in his eyes. 'You know,
you almost had me for a minute,' he snarled. 'I was this
close to falling for your bullshit, and believing this was
really about us. But it's not, is it? It's all about you, and
the fact that, even now, you don't want to give him up
any more than you want to lose control. Well, go to him,
Ellen. Go tell him about his baby, and while you're at it
you can tell him that as of right now you're off the
movie. And if Tom Chambers doesn't like it, then that's
just too bad, because I don't give a fuck whether this
movie gets made or not.'
'Michael! Michael!' she cried, going after him as he
walked towards the bedroom. 'You know you don't
mean that. You've put everything of yourself into this
movie. It's why I'm behind it too. Michael! Stop! Listen
to me, please,' she begged, as he dragged his suitcase
from under the bed. 'What about us? Please tell me
you're not giving up. I know you love me, Michael...'
'Wrong tense,' he snapped. 'It's over, Ellen. You, me,
the movie, it's all history, and as far as I'm concerned
you and Chambers can take your script, and your kid
and your goddamned ghosts and get the fucking hell out
of my life.'
Chapter 15

The taxi was going much too fast, randomly switching
from one lane to the other, as they sped over the
Chiswick flyover heading out of West London towards
the M4. Considering it was July the weather was
disgusting, rain drizzling down from a pewter sky,
while riotous winds gusted through barbecue parties
and picnic plans. It had been like this for three days now,
and was forecast to continue for another three.
Tom's stay in London had passed too swiftly, and it
was frustrating Sandy no end that they were now on
their way back to the airport where he was taking the
three thirty flight to LA. They'd had a fabulous time, and
her only regret was that she'd been unable to see him
every day, but the demands of her job had forbidden it.
Besides he'd gone to stay with friends in Scotland for a
couple of days, then to Brussels to meet up with a group
of reporters who were working on a story about the new
international link-up between the Colombian drug
cartels and the Russian and Italian Mafias. But he'd
called her while he was away, and had taken her to
dinner the night he got back, despite not flying in until gone ten o'clock.
And now, here it was, over already, and she so
desperately didn't want him to go that she had even said so last night, which had made him grin and tweak her nose, a kind of intimacy he'd fallen into these past
couple of weeks. They'd been at an after-show party at
the Shaftesbury at the time, along with several other
agents from McCanns whose clients were in the play. It
was such a thrill for Sandy to have a partner for the
occasion, and that it should be someone as striking and
eligible as Tom Chambers was almost too good to be
true. Of course everyone thought they were having an
affair, which she was more than happy for them to think,
though she'd have been a whole lot happier if they really
were.
'So when did you say you were planning on coming
out to LA again?' he asked, turning his gaze away from
the damp and misty landscape they were racing
through.
'I think at the end of the month,' she answered. 'It
depends on how things go here, but I should be able to
get away again by then.'
Was he hoping the trip would be to see him, or was he
just assuming it was business that would bring her? It
was another of the zillion ambiguities she'd failed to sort
out during the time he'd been here, and she wasn't going
to ask now for fear of him insisting she didn't fly all that
way on his account. Of course, there would be plenty of
business for her to attend to while she was there, but the
main reason she was going was in the hope they could
spend some more time together.
After a while he looked at her again and smiled. 'You
look great.' he said. 'The way I imagined you would
once we got you out of those solidly constructed
designer suits and into something . . . well, something
like this.'
The compliment made Sandy's eyes shine, for the
retro Seventies outfit she was wearing today - beige
bootleg pants, a short cream sleeveless shirt and a pair of
white Hobbs platform sandals - was one of the few she
had chosen herself. Most of the rest of her new wardrobe, as well as the soft shaggy hair and subtle makeup,
was down to him, for, true to the promise he had made in LA, he had thrown himself fully into restoring her to
youth and introducing her to style. They'd had an
hysterical - and fiercely expensive - time doing it,
especially as he was no connoisseur, which meant they'd
relied pretty heavily on fashion magazines and sales
assistants, and on the whole, as long as it pleased him, it
pleased Sandy too. She'd even tried, one time in
Selfridges, to get him to help choose her underwear, but
he'd backed off, laughing and insisting he'd be way out
of his depth with that.
It really had been the oddest time, for in every other
way they were just like a couple - calling each other two
or three times a day, taking each other to parties and
discos and concerts, and laughing and giggling over all
kinds of secrets they swore they'd never told anyone
else. They seemed so close, behaved like they were, and
even talked like they were, but not once had he even
attempted to kiss her, much less anything else. And it
wasn't as if he could be thinking she was the one holding
back, not when she'd practically told him right out that
she wouldn't mind sleeping with him, and had acted as
sexily and suggestively as she knew how.
Were it not for the fact that she knew he'd slept with
Ellen his resistance might not have rankled so much, but
just the thought of him making love to Ellen, who
already had Michael, was a horrible and totally
insufferable truth to have to deal with. What, she
wanted to know, was so damned fantastic about Ellen
Shelby that made her irresistible to the men Sandy
wanted? It might not have been so bad if they wanted
Sandy too, but whereas she did everything in her power
to attract them, it seemed all Ellen had to do was exist.
Of course, her existence might not be such a brilliant one
now, considering what lay ahead.
'I had a call from Michelle last night,' Tom said.
Sandy turned to look at him. 'Oh?'
He glanced at her briefly. 'Ellen and Michael got back
the night before last.'
'Oh,' she repeated, in a much darker tone. 'A week
early. Did she say any more than that?'
'Apparently Ellen's moved out. She's gone to stay
with Matty.'
Though Sandy's heart was starting to beat faster, she
wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that. 'Did
Michelle mention anything about the baby?'
'No. She didn't seem to know what was going on.'
They were both quiet for a moment. Sandy wondered
what he was thinking, how the news had really affected
him. For her it seemed slightly unreal. Though it was
what she had wanted, to break Michael and Ellen up, the
fact that it had now happened wasn't giving her quite
the satisfaction she'd expected.
'The press are going to give them a hard time over
this,' Tom commented.
Sandy shot him a look. 'Are you going to tell Ellen you
know about the baby?' she asked.
He shook his head. 'I don't know. I doubt it. I'll need
to get the lie of the land, see how she wants to play it.
This is going to be real tough for her.'
Sandy couldn't help resenting the fact that he cared,
but she said nothing. Spending this time with him had
given her some insight on a quite different approach to
her responses, one that was less hostile and defensive
than the way she would normally react. And though she
wasn't absolutely in tune with it yet, in this instance she
found that she could feel herself holding back for a
moment, and instead of seeing the situation for how it
was affecting her, she was giving some consideration to
how it was affecting him. And looking at it from where
he was, she realized what a struggle of conscience he
must be having, for he probably really valued his
friendship with Michael and would be as sorry to lose
that as he would to lose the movie. What he might gain,
though, was Ellen and a child, and having only just
found him herself Sandy felt devastated by the idea of
having to let him go.
Of course it could turn out that Michael would be
free, but it wasn't Michael she wanted any more, it was
Tom. No-one had ever taken this much interest in her
before, or bothered to make her feel this special, and
though in some ways it seemed to weaken her, in others
it was lending her an inner-strength that was so much
easier to deal with than the massive chip she'd always
had on her shoulder. But now the fact that he was soon
going to be in the same city as Ellen, the same building,
the same room and maybe even the same bed, was
starting to eat her up so badly she had to force herself
not to think about it for fear of all the violent things she
wanted to do.
'Will you marry her, if it's yours?' she asked.
He laughed in surprise. 'I think we're getting a bit
ahead of ourselves,' he said. 'Remember, she's married
to Michael and my guess is, despite all this, that's the
way they both want it to stay.'
'What about Michael?' she said. 'Obviously he knows
now, so how are you going to face him? What are you
going to say?'
'God knows,' he answered. 'But I can tell you this, it's
not a meeting I'm looking forward to, on any level.'
Lifting her head to look at him, she said, "The movie's
safe. World Wide will be making it, come what may. I
made sure of that before we left LA.'
His eyes were widening. 'How did you do that?' he
asked.
'I talked to Ted Forgon. He's the boss, remember? And
as he's about to take over the reins again, or so he tells
me, he's the one who'll be making the decisions. And I
happen to know that he wants Michael to executive
produce your movie.'
Tom looked sceptical. 'It might be what he wants,' he
said, 'but I don't hold out much hope of Michael staying
with it, not now. Except with all the money he's raised,
the loyalty
Sandy smiled. 'I promise you, Ted Forgon'll make it in
Michael's best interests to continue.'
Tom frowned as he thought about that, not appearing
to like the sound of it. 'And what about Ellen?' he said.
Sandy shrugged. 'What about her? It can happen
much more easily without her than it can without
Michael, especially now Vic Warren's about to join. And
besides, Ellen's going to be too busy going off to the
doctor's, or putting her feet up, or knitting, or whatever
pregnant women do.'
The lines around his eyes deepened as he smiled. 'Not
quite the image I have of a pregnant Ellen,' he
responded, 'but I take your point. And with the way
things are there's every chance she won't want to stay on
the movie.'
'Precisely,' Sandy agreed, knowing full well that what
Ellen did or didn't want was going to count for nothing
now that she, Sandy, had done a deal with Forgon. Of
course there was every chance that Michael would want
Ellen off the movie too, considering her involvement
meant spending so much time with Tom. So, it was a
pretty safe bet that Ellen Shelby was already history
where Rachel's Story was concerned, and as she, Sandy,
had already been named a producer, there didn't seem
to be any reason for her not to be in LA as often as she
liked in the forthcoming months.

Michael looked from Robbie to Michelle and back again.
They were in Robbie's bedroom and in the flickering
grey-blue light of the silent TV they appeared almost
dreamlike. Michael wondered if there was anything he
wouldn't give for this to be just a dream.
'Do you understand what we're saying, sweetheart?'
Michelle said, smoothing Robbie's hair.
Robbie nodded. He was sitting up in bed, fiddling with the hanging cord of his Batman lamp. Spot was next to him, snuffling in his sleep.
From where he was sitting on a beanbag next to the
bed Michael looked up at his son's confused and
worried face and fought back a surge of emotion.
Michelle spoke again. 'We understand how difficult
this is for you, darling,' she said, 'and you don't have to
give us an answer straight away, OK?'
Robbie looked at her with his wide blue eyes. 'I want
you to stay here with me and Daddy and Spot,' he said,
his lips starting to tremble.
'I know you do, darling.' she said, and Michael could
see how hard it was for her not to draw him into her
arms. 'But we just tried to explain why that can't
happen. It's not that Mummy and Daddy don't love
each other, because we do, it's just that we love other
people too. Most of all though we love you, which is
why you get to choose which one of us you want to live
with.'
Robbie turned to his father, and though Michael met
his gaze the possibility of losing this child, whom he
loved more than his own life, was tearing him apart so
badly that he didn't know how much longer he could
hold on.
'Mummy has to go back to Pakistan for a while,' he
said, repeating what Michelle had already told him. 'But
after, in a few weeks, if you decide you want to live with
her, she and Uncle Cavan will fly back here to get you
and take you to live in London. You'll be near Gran and
Auntie Colleen and all your cousins.'
'Can't you come too?' he said.
Michael shook his head, then followed Robbie's eyes
to Spot as the shaggy little black bundle shifted and
groaned. He hadn't asked about the dog yet, probably
just assumed that wherever he went the dog would go
too. The truth of it was, though, that at any time now it

was likely to be just Michael and Spot in this great big
house, for Britain's quarantine laws would prevent
Robbie taking his beloved pet with him.
'I want to go to sleep now.' Robbie said abruptly, and
snuggling down into his sheet he put an arm around
Spot and buried his face.
Michelle's eyes came up to Michael, then without saying any more they quietly left the room.
'He's too young to make this decision,' Michelle
whispered after closing the door behind them.
'I know,' Michael answered, 'but what else can we
do?'
Michelle looked blindly out at the lamplit garden and
pool. Her heart was almost exploding with the need to
beg him to make a go of it. She could come here and he
could continue with World Wide. That way they could
be the family Robbie wanted. It was what she wanted
too, more than anything else, but with the way things
stood between Michael and Ellen she knew that now
wasn't the time to discuss it. In truth there would
probably never be a time, because despite the terrible
dilemma he and Ellen were now facing, in her heart
Michelle knew that he was never again going to feel the
same way about her that he once had.
Turning to look at him, she smiled and gave his hand
a quick squeeze, before starting back to the sitting-room.
Michael followed and went to the bar to fix them a
drink, while Michelle sat down with Cavan and
Clodagh.
'We've left it with him,' Michelle said, slipping a hand
into Cavan's.
Clodagh looked over at Michael and felt his pain
clawing into her heart. This had to be harder on him than
he was ever going to admit, and she blamed herself for
the way he was unable to share it. She wished to God she
knew what had happened between him and Ellen.
Whatever it was, he obviously didn't want to discuss it
and until he did she knew she was never going to get
this break-up to make sense. One minute they were the
happiest couple alive, living it up at the wedding of the
year, the next they were back from honeymoon,
separated and barely speaking. What on earth could
have gone so wrong in such a short space of time?
'Here you are.' he said, passing her a small brandy.
Taking it, she looked over at Michelle whose head was
resting on Cavan's shoulder. She'd always cared for
Michelle, ever since she'd come into Michael's life; it was
taking some getting used to seeing her with Cavan
though, especially with the difference in their ages. Not
that it was any of Clodagh's business, but she would
dearly love to see Michelle and Michael back together, if
only for the sake of their son. She was a realist, however,
so knew that wasn't going to happen, not even in the
face of this mysterious rift.
'Aren't you having one?' Clodagh said, as Michael
handed drinks to Cavan and Michelle.
He shook his head. 'No, I'm going to take a shower,
then I've got some reading to do before I go into the
office tomorrow.'
Knowing that meant he wanted to be alone, Clodagh
squeezed his hand as he kissed her, then listened for the
door closing behind him. When it did, she looked at
Michelle.
'I know he's confided in you what happened between
him and Ellen,' she said, 'and I'm not going to ask you to
break his trust, but is there nothing you can do to make
any of this any easier for him?'
Michelle swallowed hard. 'I swear to you, Clodagh,'
she said, 'if I could, I would.'
Clodagh's face seemed to collapse, and looking down
at her brandy she felt her son's despair as though it were
her own.
'It's good you're staying on, Ma,' Cavan said,
recognizing her need to help. 'If nothing else he's going
to want you here for Robbie - at least until Robbie
decides what he's going to do.'

After taking a shower Michael towelled himself dry,
searched out some clean shorts and resisted the urge to
call Ellen. He had nothing to say to her, he guessed he
just wanted to hear her voice, but he could live without
it. Somewhere, deep down inside, he knew he was still
angry, but he had it in much better control now and
imagined it would stay that way, just as long as he didn't
have to spend too much time around his mother whose
kindness and concern were driving him nuts. Still, he'd
have to get used to it, as Michelle and Cavan, the buffers,
were leaving tomorrow, so with Lucina having made an
abrupt return to Mexico, it was going to be just him,
Clodagh and Robbie for a while.
Feeling bad at his resentment towards his mother, he
was almost tempted to go back out there, but knowing
he was too on edge to deal with much else today, he
stayed where he was.
From a different emotional perspective, losing Robbie
was going to be every bit as bad as losing Ellen, and with
it coming at the same time he had to accept that he was
going to be dealing with the most difficult time he would
probably ever have to face. Nothing was going to make
it easy, but not for the first time in his life a sixth sense
was telling him he was handling it all wrong. But no
matter which way he looked at the problems, he just
couldn't figure out a way that felt right.
Knowing he was in danger of going round and round
in circles if he didn't at least try to focus on something else
for a while, he took a stack of contracts from his briefcase
and got into bed. As there was no particular urgency
attached to them, nor any real need for his scrutiny, it
wasn't long before he found himself reaching for the latest
scenes Tom had given him for Rachel's Story - scenes Tom
and Ellen had worked on prior to the wedding.
Knowing that the child Ellen was carrying had very
probably been conceived along with these scenes wasn't
exactly helping him give them a fair reading, and as they
contained some tender moments between Rachel and
Tom, it was proving about as pleasurable as a kick in the
face. However, he had determined to go on with the
movie, for far too many people had put their trust in him
for him to let them down now and as it was a project he
had believed in from the start, he wasn't prepared to let
his personal feelings get in the way.
With Vic Warren about to take over the script, there
was no reason for Ellen to remain involved, and when he
and Tom had met the day before Tom had shown no
signs of insisting. In fact, Ellen had hardly been
mentioned, and certainly the baby hadn't, for as far as
Michael was aware Tom didn't even know, and he had
no intention of being the one to tell him. Nevertheless,
their meeting had been strained and awkward: the
unspoken fact that Tom had slept with Ellen was right
there between them.
Obviously, it would help matters considerably if Ellen
were to resign, though it certainly wasn't what Michael
wanted, even if it was causing him problems seeing her
every day in the office. That was going to get harder
once her pregnancy started to show, and God only knew
what the press were going to do then, as they were bad
enough now with their sly innuendos, ludicrous
speculation and blatant untruths. But that was something
they would have to deal with when the time came
- for now all that mattered was getting the movie ready
to shoot and watching his back every minute of the day
in readiness for Ted Forgon's knife.
He had a meeting scheduled with Forgon at the end of
the week. It would be the first time they'd talked,
privately at least, since Forgon had raised the flag of his
comeback. He didn't imagine the meeting would be
pleasant, few dealings with Forgon ever were, but there
was no way of avoiding it, and in some ways he was
actually looking forward to it. After all, Forgon now had
what he wanted, Michael McCann in his power, and it
was going to be interesting to find out exactly how the
old man was planning to finish him.
Hearing Michelle and Cavan climb the stairs to the
guest suite above, he turned out his own light and lay in
the darkness. The intensity with which he missed Ellen
was cruel, but he knew even if she were there he would
be unable to hold her, or make love to her, or deceive
himself even for a minute that the child was his. Michelle
had been as shocked as he was when he'd confided in
her, had felt guilty and responsible and desperately
sorry for Ellen. He wondered if she'd told Cavan, but
doubted it, as the entire truth would entail confessing
her own part in the betrayal. Were it not for the fact that
he still loved Ellen so much, he knew it would have been
very easy for him to turn to Michelle right now, for he
had felt much closer to her lately than he had to anyone
else. Indeed his admiration and love for her had grown
considerably these past few days for the way she'd
coped, not just with Robbie and the break-up of his
marriage, but with the fact that she was no longer going
to play the part of Rachel. As far as he knew no-one had
ever told her that her casting was in jeopardy, so the
decision not to play Rachel had been entirely hers.
Having seen what problems it had caused already with
her being here, she had judged it in everyone's best
interests for her to withdraw. It was a truly noble
gesture, and one that was very typical of her.
Rearranging his pillows, he put his hands behind his
head and stared out at the moon. He doubted he would
sleep much, he hadn't since Ellen had gone. God only
knew how much worse it was going to be if Robbie went
too, and he ached for the decision his son's little five-year-old
heart was having to reach. No child should be
forced to choose between his parents, but neither he nor
Michelle had seen any way round it. He had to know
that they both loved and wanted him, that whatever he
decided was fine by them.
It was around two in the morning when he heard his
bedroom door creak open. Sitting up he saw Robbie
standing in the moonlight, Spot right behind him, and
not for the first time Michael realized that if his son knew
there was a chance he'd have to leave his precious dog
then he would almost undoubtedly stay.
'Hey there,' Michael whispered, 'couldn't you sleep?'
'Can I come in with you, Dad?' he asked.
'Sure, come on.'
Michael flipped back the covers and gave him a hand
up onto the bed. Spot waited for an invitation, but when
none was forthcoming he hopped up anyway.
The three of them lay quietly for a while, Robbie's
head on his father's shoulder, his hand idly toying with
Spot's ears.
'Daddy?' he said after a while.
'Yes?'
'Did Ellen go because of me?'
'No,' Michael answered, hugging him. 'It had nothing
to do with you, I promise.'
"Then why did she go?'
Michael inhaled deeply. 'It's kind of hard to explain.'
he said.
'Will she come back?'
Michael's throat was suddenly tight. 'I don't know.' he said.
Robbie turned his head and gazed up into Michael's
shadowy face. 'I want to stay here with you, Daddy,' he
said.
Michael's eyes closed and he had to swallow hard
before he could speak. Even then he found he couldn't,
so he just held his son close and thanked God that, for
the moment at least, this was one loss he didn't have to
endure.
Chapter 16

They'd been back from honeymoon for just over a week
and already pre-production for Rachel's Story had gone
into top gear, with casting, crewing, costume design and
set-building all well under way, and provisional shoot
dates being discussed for September. Nothing had yet
been mentioned, or apparently changed, regarding
Ellen's role as executive producer, but she sensed it soon
would be. She knew through Maggie that Michael had
spoken to Tom a couple of days after they'd returned
from Barbados, but she had yet to learn what decisions
had been reached. If Michael was still expecting her to
resign, he was giving no sign of it, nor was there
anything to suggest that he was backing out either. But,
just in case, she was starting to wind down her role, and
was concentrating more now on World Wide's other
projects. Not that she was happy about that, in fact it was
proving a terrible wrench letting go of the movie, but
since Michael had so much more invested in it than she
did, it only seemed right that she should be the one to
give way.
She'd left the office early today, for a doctor's
appointment at the medical centre in Santa Monica. Just
before leaving she'd run into Michael, which hadn't
been easy, but though she knew he was finding it every
bit as difficult as she was, so far they seemed to be
dealing with it surprisingly well. At least on the surface
they were, but it was still early days so there was no
knowing how long they could keep this up. Considering
the news she'd received today, it was probably going to
be a lot easier for her than it was for him.
'Hey, what's all this?' Matty cried, coming in the door
of the apartment and finding herself assailed by the
delicious aroma of something cooking. 'Candles, soft
music, fancy napkins. Are you expecting someone?'
Ellen smiled, and ground more pepper into the pan.
'Just you.'
'Mmm, what's cooking? It smells so good.'
'Shrimp with garlic, ginger and soy sauce.'
'My God, it's my birthday and I forgot,' Matty
declared.
Ellen laughed and passed her a glass of wine.
'What is all this?' Matty said, confused. 'I mean not
that I don't appreciate it, you can cook for me any time,
but I am not looking at the same woman I left at the crack
of dawn this morning.'
'You are looking,' Ellen declared, 'at a woman who is
pregnant by the man she is married to.'
Matty stared at her in blank amazement. 'I'm sorry,'
she said. 'You've lost me. Is there some new miracle
predictor or something that I never heard of, because I
could swear you were in a state of total ambiguity when
I left here this morning.'
'I was,' Ellen confirmed, 'but no longer am. And no,
there's no miracle diviner, just the tried and trusty old
calendar.'
Matty blinked. 'Humour me,' she said.
Ellen turned back to the stove, whisked the pan from
the heat and emptied the shrimp into a serving dish.
'Just a minute,' Matty said excitedly, 'you were going
to see the doctor today, right?'
Ellen grinned.
'So?'
'So, I am thirteen weeks pregnant.'
Matty's face dropped in astonishment, then suddenly
she too was grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat.
'You're kidding me,' she said. 'No you're not, you
wouldn't over something like this. Oh my God, Ellen.
Oh my God, this is so wonderful. Did you tell Michael
yet? Oh God, I can't believe . . . But hang on, how come
you got it so wrong? I mean, you're not even showing
and thirteen weeks is a lot.'
'I am showing - a bit,' Ellen protested.
'But did you miss a period? You must have known if
you missed a period?'
'Yeah, I think I did miss one, but there was so much
going on, with the build-up to the wedding, things being
as crazy as they always are at the office, and everything
else, I just didn't notice. Then, after what happened with
Tom,' she shrugged, 'I jumped to conclusions and got it
wonderfully, fantastically and mercifully wrong. This is
Michael's baby. Michael's and mine.'
'Oh Ellen,' Matty murmured, embracing her. 'This is
just such wonderful news. I'm so happy for you I could
cry. I guess you didn't tell Michael yet, or you wouldn't
still be here.'
'No, I didn't tell him yet,' Ellen confirmed, and,
having strained the rice, she picked up the loaded tray
and carried it out to the veranda. 'I hope it's OK with
you that we eat right away,' she said. 'I'm famished and
as I've hardly eaten this past month I just couldn't wait.'
'Fine by me,' Matty said, sliding into a chair and
putting her wine down. 'It'll be a relief to see you getting
fatter, instead of thinner, given your condition.'
Ellen smiled. 'So did you have a good day?' she asked.
'Did those script changes work out?'
Matty sighed. 'Selling a script change to Dorothy the
Dictator is like selling contraception to the Pope,' she
responded. 'But we don't want to talk about that, it'll get
sorted one way or another, and as it doesn't rate too well
alongside global warming, world famine, or holy wars, I
can't even claim it has any importance. Whereas your
news does. OK, not in a Save the Planet sense, but
definitely in a save the marriage sense. So when are you
planning on telling Michael?'
Ellen was chewing a mouthful of food so it was a
moment before she answered. 'I'm not.' she said when
she was able.
Matty's shrimp remained in mid-air. 'Excuse me, did
I just hear you say you're not?' she said.
Ellen nodded and carried on eating.
'Well you can't just leave it there,' Matty protested.
Ellen looked over the railing as someone splashed into
the pool below. 'I'm not telling him,' she said.
'But you have to. I mean, surely you want to ...'
She waited, but Ellen merely shook her head.
'OK, there's obviously something here that I'm not
getting,' Matty said. 'Why the hell wouldn't you want to
tell him? You do want him back, don't you?'
'Of course I do,' Ellen replied. 'I just don't want him
back this way.'
Matty shook her head, then rubbed her eyes as though
she was having a hard time understanding. 'You're
really making me work here,' she said, 'and it's been a
long day, so could you just give me this straight?'
Ellen ate some more shrimp, then putting down her
fork she sat back in her chair and looked out at the softly
darkening sky. 'I don't know if I can explain,' she finally
answered. 'I guess it's just instinct. It doesn't feel right to
tell him now, so I'm not going to.' She turned back and
looked at Matty. 'I love him,' she said, 'and I want him
more than anything, but I can't forget the way he was
prepared to let me go through this alone. OK, I know he
was hurting too, that he was probably reacting to shock,
and given time he might have come round. Well, I guess
I'm going to give him that time, because if he really loves
me and wants me too, then he'll find a way of working
things out for us. Besides, even if I were to tell him now,

I don't think he's ready to forgive me yet.'
Matty was quiet as she sipped her wine. 'I understand
what you're saying,' she began, 'but
'My mind's made up,' Ellen interrupted, 'so please,
don't try to plead his case.'
Matty looked at her in the candlelight and
experienced a quiet admiration for her strength. 'Did
you find out anything yet about what happened when
Michael and Tom met last week?'
Ellen shook her head. 'I can hardly ask Michael and I
haven't spoken to Tom. The truth is, I've been avoiding
Tom, but there's no reason for me to now. Except in
Michael's eyes, of course.'
'I'm not sure what you're doing is right.' Matty said
after a pause. 'He really loves you, Ellen, and this has got
to be tearing him apart. Even if it takes him a while to get
past it all, I think he deserves to know the truth.'
Ellen was shaking her head. 'No, Matty. He's got to
learn that he can't just walk away from the people he
loves when things go wrong. He did it with Michelle
when she went off to Sarajevo pregnant with Robbie,
and now he's done it to me. OK, I understand that he's
feeling betrayed, but he's got to accept some
responsibility for what happened, because no matter
what he wants to tell himself, it's not all mine.'
'I guess you're right.' Matty said.
'I am,' Ellen replied firmly. 'We just have to be grateful
that no-one else ever got to find out, because that's
something I don't think either of us could deal with.'

Michael looked up from his desk as the outer door to the
executive suite opened and Ellen came in. She appeared
slightly breathless and flushed, and he wanted to think
that it was because her arms were full and her briefcase
was heavy, rather than that it had anything to do with
the baby.
'Oh Maggie,' she said to their assistant, 'there's a pile
of videos for me downstairs, could you get someone
to bring them up? Good morning, by the way. Did
Oscar Weinberg call yet? I need to speak to him before
ten.'
'He called a few minutes ago,' Maggie confirmed.
'He's in his office. I've got to take this down to the mail
room, before the courier turns up. I'll get someone on to
the videos. Coffee's made, the others are running
errands, but should be back any second.'
As the door closed behind her Ellen dumped her stack
of files and went to pour some coffee.
'Hi,' Michael said, coming to stand in the doorway of
his office.
Ellen spun round. 'Oh, hi,' she said, feeling her heart
twist. 'I didn't realize you were here.'
He watched her pour. 'How are you?' he said.
'Yeah, OK. I'm fine. How are you?'
She looked so alive, so vibrant and happy that he
couldn't help being surprised. It wasn't that he wanted
to see her fall apart, but he just hadn't expected her to be
dealing with their break-up quite as well as this. Maybe
she and Tom were getting it on again, and now he was
out of the way they could . . . No, he wasn't going that
route, self-pity was never an answer and despite the
impressive show she'd been putting on the past couple
of days, he was convinced she wasn't finding this any
easier than he was.
'I need to know,' he said, 'if you've told Tom about the
baby.'
Her surprise showed. 'No,' she answered. 'Why?'
'Are you going to?'
'No.'
He guessed it was the response he'd been hoping for,
though exactly what it proved he wasn't entirely sure.
Right now, though, it was the fact that she seemed so
unemotional that was throwing him.
'We've been getting some pretty positive feedback on
the twenty-six-part series.' he said, making for safer
ground. 'The one Sandy was dealing with, just prior to
the wed-' He stopped abruptly, then continued. 'I was
hoping you'd take it over. Sam Field at Fox is interested
to know more, so's Elaine Wade at Prime Time.'
'Great,' Ellen responded enthusiastically. 'Can I take a
look at the figures?'
'They're on the computer. I'll give you the code. Uh, I
guess we need to schedule a meeting so we can catch up
with what's going on.'
'I'll talk to Maggie,' she said. 'It should probably be
some time this week, before things start getting out of
hand.'
He hated the idea of having to book some time with
her, but she seemed to be accepting it like it was the most
natural thing in the world.
'Are you OK about taking on this project with Sandy?'
he said. 'I mean, I could always pass it on to someone
else...'
'No, it's great,' Ellen assured him. 'I've read the first
three scripts, it's something I'd like to be involved in.'
She glanced at her watch. 'Aren't you seeing Ted this
morning?'
He wondered how she knew that, if Forgon had told
her. 'Yes,' he said. 'He's coming here.'
Ellen's eyebrows went up.
'I think I should tell you,' he said, 'that Michelle's
decided not to play the part of Rachel. I know we were
probably going to withdraw it anyway, but she doesn't
know that, so I think it would be kinder if we let her
think she turned it down.'
Once again it was impossible to read her expression,
so he had no idea how she felt about his consideration of
Michelle's feelings.
'I've told Tom,' he said. 'We should be in a position to
make Matty a definite offer by the end of the week.'
Her eyes went down and it was only then that he
realized how much this was hurting, being so apart from
her, so formal and removed.
'Would you like some coffee?' she said with a smile.
He shook his head.
'OK, well I guess I'd better be getting on.'
He watched her walk into her office, then turned back
to his own.
The fact that she hadn't commented on Michelle's
withdrawal, or Matty's casting, suggested that she no
longer considered herself involved in the movie. Further
proof of that was in her failure to turn up for a
producers' meeting the day before, or even to ask how
Vic and Tom's recent five-day field trip to Mexico had
gone. She'd covered it well, but he knew that she had to
be hurting over this, and feeling horribly shut out. But it
was how she would have to stay, because there was just
no way he could tolerate the thought of her working
with Chambers again.

Having spent the past couple of weeks going over ATI
and World Wide's figures and forecasts, Ted Forgon had
filled the first hour of their meeting with questions,
comments, the inevitable insults and typical brusque
appreciation. He'd never doubted Michael knew what
he was doing, and the facts were bearing him out, for the
changes he and Ellen had made to ATI by introducing an
official line of TV and movie packaging were already
showing signs of paying off, and the number of agents as
well as clients had increased more than Forgon had
realized. Indeed, he could see from his past couple of
weeks' study that his finger had wandered much further
from the pulse than it should have, which no son-of-a
bitch executive of competitor better interpret as a sign
that the old dog was losing his teeth. It was simply that
he trusted McCann and had seen no reason not to heed
his physician's advice to take things easy for a while. At
least that was the official story.
But now he was back, and not only did he have the
new and improved ATI to administer, he also had the
genesis of a thriving production company in World
Wide Entertainment. He couldn't say he was in total
agreement with all the projects they were considering
for development, but he didn't plan on taking issue with
any, there were always going to be bombs, no matter
how hard one strove to avoid them. God knew he'd
suffered his share.
What he did want to address, however, was the
current status of Rachel's Story from both a financial and
production standpoint, which was why he had saved it
for last.
Right now he was reviewing the configuration of the
movie's investment commitments, the proposed
returns, fund-release dates and costs of insurance. They
were looking at a budget of around twenty-plus million,
with a further ten-to-fifteen for marketing, promotion
and publicity. For an independent, this was massive,
possibly even delusional, except McCann sure as hell
appeared to be pulling it off. And it seemed Sandy Paull
had managed to bag an impressive number of backers,
not to mention pre-sales, over there in Europe, which
shouldn't have been as much of a surprise as it was. She
was a ruthless little cookie, unburdened by morals or
conscience, and apparently blessed by a planetary
gestalt that always seemed to put her in the right place
at the right time.
'OK,' he said finally, looking up, 'it all seems pretty
much in shape.'
'It is,' Michael confirmed.
'This could prove a major event for Hollywood, as
well as World Wide,' Forgon stated. 'Done well, we
should clean up at the box office as well as the Oscars.
How's the script looking?'
'It's about to enter its third draft. Tom doesn't foresee
anything significant enough to affect casting or location.
The only remaining problem is how to end it. Vic
Warren's on board now, so it could be he'll have
something in mind on how to fix it. The names of the
killers are still tightly under wraps.'
Forgon nodded. 'OK. You've done a good job of
bringing it to a point where you can hand over without
too many problems, which is what I imagine you're
intending now I'm back in the driving seat. Problem is,
it's not what I'm intending. You started out as one of the
executive producers on this movie, and that's where
you're going to stay. And just in case you're drawing
breath to tell me which parts of my anatomy I can shove
up other parts, I should make it clear to you right now
that if you walk off this project I'll see to it that the world
knows that the kid Ellen is carrying might not be yours.'
Michael's face turned pale. For a moment he could
hardly believe what he'd heard. How the hell did he
know? Surely to God Ellen wouldn't have told him?
'If you're thinking Ellen told me, you're wrong,'
Forgon said, apparently reading his mind. 'I didn't learn
it from her, nor from her cousin Matty either. I guess that
about covers everyone you thought knew, so let this be
a reminder to you never to underestimate me. If there's
a secret to be found, I always know where to look. Now
I can't imagine you wanting Ellen to suffer the
humiliation of her little secret being made public, no
matter how mad you are at her and Chambers - and let
me tell you, I'm on your side here, 'cos I can't think of a
worse way of finding out your little bit of pussy is
getting stroked by another man's dick.'
Michael's fists were clenched, but even if he could find
the words, there was no way he was going to dignify
that with a response. What he was going to do was start
working right away on regaining control. He wondered
how fast he could pull it off - fast enough, he hoped, to
prevent him from choking the bastard with his own
foul-mouthed tongue.
'So I want you on this movie,' Forgon continued, 'and
I think I've just provided you with a good incentive for
respecting my wishes. Next: I want Ellen back on it too.
She told me yesterday she was going to be concentrating
on other things now that Vic Warren's on the scene, but
I don't want this show being run by a bunch of fucked
up men. It needs her input and I'm going to insist she
gives it. Or maybe I should get you to insist, she's more
likely to listen to you.'
Michael continued to stare at him.
Forgon stared back.
Michael's eyes never wavered.
'This kind of shit don't work with me,' Forgon
blustered. 'I got you so tight by the balls you can't even
breathe, never mind speak, so don't think this silent stuff
has got me a-trembling.'
Michael's smile was like ice. 'Is that what you think it
was meant to do?' he said.
Forgon's shrewd eyes narrowed.
Michael settled back into silence. The fact that he'd
had no intention of walking off the movie wasn't one he
was going to share with Forgon, nor was he going to
reveal his reluctance for Ellen to rejoin. Let the son of a
bitch think what he wanted, he'd have plenty of time to
ruminate on his mistakes when all this was over.
Forgon got to his feet.
Michael could see how pissed he was at not quite
getting the measure of Michael's response. Michael
waited, knowing there was no way he could walk out
without having the last word.
There's no statute of limitations on that kid's
paternity.' he snarled. 'I could run with this for ever.'
Michael got up. As he walked round the desk, his eyes
were lowered. He raised them only when he was right in
front of Forgon, and had the momentary satisfaction of
seeing the man shrink. 'Let me tell you this,' he said
softly. 'If as much as a single whisper of doubt over that
pregnancy ever gets made public I'll know where to
come. Whether it was you who did the talking or anyone
else, I'll hold you accountable, and believe you me, with
your heart, you can't afford the price.'

After Forgon had gone Michael walked over to the
window and stared down at the stream of traffic below.
Inside he was shaking. He knew he was on quicksand
and would have to act fast before the bastard pushed
him under. Putting him at an emotional disadvantage,
by returning Ellen to work with Chambers, was a smart
move, and one Michael knew he was going to find hard
to deal with. But he could and he would, he just needed
a moment to think it through. Except there was no way
he could foresee the outcome of that, nor, on reflection,
was it something he was going to torment himself with.
Of course, he could always ask Ellen to go against
Forgon's wishes, but there was just no way his pride
would allow that.
So the immediate question was, what to deal with
first, getting Ellen back on board, or setting his
legitimate takeover of World Wide in motion. He'd
never been comfortable holding the gun of statutory
rape to Forgon's head, it wasn't his style of doing things,
and it made him about as low as Forgon for resorting to
it. He hadn't had much choice at the time, however, and
he was a damned fool for not organizing a takeover long
before now. The trouble was, he didn't have the funds to
do it, not with everything he had already tied up in
World Wide, and with nothing to borrow against while
his share of McCann Paull was standing surety for the
loans he'd taken to get World Wide off the ground.
He needed to speak to the other shareholders, perhaps
call a meeting. In the meantime he guessed he should get
on with the business of reinstating Ellen, so picking up
the phone he buzzed through to her.
'Ellen Shelby's office,' Maggie answered.
Michael hesitated. Obviously Maggie was in with
Ellen, but that wasn't what had stalled him, it was
hearing Ellen's name. They'd decided that after they
were married she'd be known as Ellen Shelby McCann
in the long form, and Ellen McCann in the short.
'Hello?'
'Uh, Maggie,' he said. 'Is Ellen there?'
'Sure, I'll pass you over.'
'Hi,' Ellen said a moment later. 'What can I do for
you?'
Her apparent ability to handle their break-up was
suddenly back in his face and this time, rather than
confusing him, it irked him.
'Forgon's just left here.' he said.
'Oh? How did it go?'
'You're asking me? I thought you'd already know.
You're back on the movie. He doesn't want it being run
by a bunch of fucked-up men, so congratulations, you're
getting it all your way. Michelle's pulled out, Forgon's
reinstating you, and I guess it won't be too much longer
before Chambers'll be saying he wants you as the senior
executive.'
The line went dead and seconds later she was
standing at his door.
'Are you trying to tell me that you think I went to
Forgon and begged him to get me back on the movie?'
she demanded, her brown eyes flashing with anger.
He stared at her hard, but though he didn't believe it,
he couldn't bring himself to say so.
'You fool,' she spat. 'You goddamned fool.'
He said nothing, though once again he was acutely
aware of how badly he was handling it all.
'Well, I'm not going to turn it down,' she said, 'which
is what I imagine you were hoping for. I've done a lot of
work on that movie and I happen to believe in it every
bit as much as you do. But just in case you think I'm
aiming to take over, or trying to use my incredible
powers over Forgon, or Tom Chambers, to get them to
do things my way . . . Where are you going? Don't walk
out. . . Michael!'
He closed the door, then turned to face her. 'Did you
tell Forgon you were pregnant?' he demanded.
Her face instantly paled. 'Did I what? Are you crazy?'
'Well he knows, and I sure as hell didn't tell him. He
also knows there's some doubt about the identity of the
father.'
Ellen stared at him in disbelief. 'How do you know?
What did he say?'
Ignoring the question Michael walked back behind his
desk. 'Are you sure you didn't tell Tom?' he asked.
'Of course I'm sure.'
'What about Matty?'
'Yes, she knows, but if you seriously think that either
she or I... No, I'm not getting into this. You believe what
you want to believe, because I'm not about to start
defending myself for something I didn't do. But if it's
OK with Tom and Vic I am going to get involved with
the script again, and if you're thinking that I'm going to
use what influence I might have to talk Tom into
committing to Matty, then you're right, I will, because
she's right for that part and you know it.'
There was hardly any colour in Michael's face as he
looked back at her, but anger was all he would allow
himself to feel. 'Well, we all know that you've got quite
a lot of influence over Chambers,' he said, 'so I guess
Matty can consider herself cast.'
After she'd gone he remained standing where he was,
bound by the shame of his sarcasm, the sound of the
slamming door still ringing in his ears.

Ted Forgon looked up from the video he was watching
as Glori, his latest secretary, put her head round the
door. She wasn't a bad-looking kid, not a patch on Kerry
Jo though, the ex-beauty queen from Dallas he'd had just
prior to his temporary retirement. He'd spent a fortune
on that one, getting her all fixed up with bigger tits,
tighter ass, fuller lips (top and bottom) and a wardrobe
that'd made Barbie's look scarce. If the truth be told he'd
been planning on marrying Kerry Jo, maybe even
having a kid, until he'd come home early one day and
caught her screwing the Mexican gardener. Of course,
no-one knew about that, they all thought he'd got sick of
her and sent her back to Dallas.
'Sandy Paull's still on the line,' Glori said.
Forgon glanced at his watch. That made fifteen
minutes she'd been holding, all the way from London.
'OK, put her on,' he said, pausing the tape and getting to
his feet. He knew only too well what this was about and
was in the mood now for getting it over with.
'Sandy,' he said into the receiver.
There was a moment as she took her phone off the
speaker. 'We had a deal,' she spat.
'We did?' he drawled.
'You know damn well we did. I gave you what you
needed to control Michael; in return you were taking
Ellen Shelby off the movie.'
'Oh, that deal,' he said. 'Well, I guess it seems I
changed my mind.'
'A deal is a deal,' she exploded. 'Now I want Ellen
Shelby off that movie or you can start kissing goodbye to
the European investors.'
Forgon chuckled. 'You know what?' he said. 'You're
better at blow-jobs than you are at bluffing. Now do
yourself a favour and get used to the idea of Ellen
working with Chambers. I'm sure if Michael can handle
it, you can too.'
There was silence at the other end, but he had no
problem imagining the fury that was causing it. He
thought of his majority shareholding and, realizing that
was the one area she could hurt him in, he said, 'We just
need her for some script refinements, once that kid starts
showing she'll back off herself, you'll see.'
He didn't get the impression she was appeased, but
there was no way he was kissing ass. 'You start planning
anything fancy,' he growled, 'then Michael's going to
find out who told me about the kid. Or maybe it'll be
Chambers who finds out how you tried to get Ellen off
the show. He seems like the kind of guy who'd
appreciate a good blow-job. Wonder if he knows that
yours come with a price tag?' He laughed. 'You know
what? It's making me hard just thinking about what you
might do to get me to keep my mouth shut, so be sure to
drop by next time you're in town, won't you?' and still
laughing he hung up and went back to the video.
Chapter 17

With casting and crewing now almost complete and
provisional shoot dates being struck into calendars, both
Ellen and Michael were becoming so tied up with their
various commitments that even sharing an office suite
wasn't bringing them into contact as much as they
would have liked. Not that either of them was prepared
to admit that, but Ellen was fairly certain that Michael
was just as guilty as she was of searching out excuses for
them to meet. And when they were together, instead of
the incendiary clashes that had taken place over the last
couple of weeks, there was an amazing lightheartedness
to their encounters now, much like before
they'd broken up, and it was highly entertaining to see
how baffled everyone was by it. In truth, it baffled Ellen
too, for though it was an act, it didn't always feel like
one, and she didn't imagine it did for him either.
However, he had given no indication of wanting her
to move back to the house, nor, more importantly, of
being able to deal with her unfaithfulness and what had
resulted. For her part it was becoming harder and harder
to hold on to her principles, for she missed their physical
closeness terribly, and hated the way they were
constantly pretending there was no issue between them
at all. But deep in her heart she knew she had to wait for
him to come to her; it was the only way this could be
resolved satisfactorily, and these past few days she was
daring to believe that it might not be so long before it
happened.
'Working late again?' he said, entering her office and
finding her alone at her desk. She was still there in the
hope that he would come to find her, having checked his
diary and discovered that he had no meetings or dinners
scheduled for the evening.
Putting on a good show of engrossment she made a
drawn-out turn from the computer, which was
displaying the Academy Players Directory. 'Mmm, just
checking out these suggestions,' she said. Tom's
adamant we can't use Mexicans to play Colombians,
because they look nothing like each other. I've also got to
go over the latest publicity hand-outs. Did you see them
yet? The ones where we're starting to make a real issue
out of revealing the killers' names at the end of the
movie?'
'One of the best kept secrets of the year,' he
commented. 'I just wonder how much longer we'll be
able to keep them under wraps.'
'Have faith,' she told him. 'As far as I'm aware it's
only me, you and Tom who know. Oh, and Sandy. Tom
told her himself.'
Michael's eyebrows went up, but whatever he
thought about Tom and Sandy's apparent friendship, he
made no comment. 'Want me to go over the handouts
with you?' he offered, going to sit on one of the sofas.
Ellen feigned surprise. 'You're not rushing off?' she
said.
'No. Where are they?'
'Right there in front of you. I think some of the copy's
a bit cheesy, but it's getting there.'
He picked one up and gave it a quick read through.
'What visuals are we using?' he asked.
'No decision yet,' she said. 'But it'll probably be
Rachel and Tom - or Matty and Richard, I should say.'
Michael nodded thoughtfully. 'You know, it might
not be such a bad idea to use some shots of the actual
Rachel and Tom,' he said. 'It could work better for this
kind of publicity to show the woman who was really
killed. Everyone'll remember her, and if we're using the
revelation of the killers' names as a hook, there won't be
much we can come up with that's more powerful than
the image of the woman they killed.'
Ellen was smiling as she shook her head. 'You're a
genius, do you know that?' she told him.
'Yeah,' he answered.
Laughing, she threw a pencil at him and said, 'Did
you have any luck talking Tom into giving some pre
shoot interviews?'
'Now there my genius failed,' he conceded.
He watched her as she got up from the desk, his eyes
instantly going to her waistline to see if there were any
signs yet. It was hard to tell, for though she was wearing
a short tight rust-coloured skirt, the thin cotton sweater
she had over it was too long and too loose to reveal
anything more than a hint of cleavage at the neckline.
She came to sit next to him, her bare legs almost
touching his as she leaned forward to pick up a handout.
'Let's
go over this wording,' she said. 'I daresay the
experts will come up with something better, but based
on what we've got here, I'm not sure we're communicating
quite the right message.'
They sat together for two hours or more, probably
much longer than was necessary, dealing with
everything from the publicity wording, to the cost of
various sets, to the need for security once they were
under way. She was acutely aware of his nearness, could
feel him looking at her legs and noticing the brief
glimpses of her breasts she was deliberately showing
him each time she sat forward. There was even a
moment, when they were laughing over a particularly
tacky line in the hand-out, that he actually looked into
her face and allowed his smile to fade. Ellen's heart
raced at the emotion that came into his eyes, but as she
gazed back, feeling his tension and confusion, he
suddenly looked away and returned to the subject of
security.
But it wouldn't be long now, she was certain of it. He
was finding a way through, and she prayed to God that
it would be soon, for the last thing she wanted was to
deprive him of these precious months before their baby
was born.

More than eight weeks had gone by since Sandy was last
in LA. She'd been too tied up in London to get away
sooner, though she'd been in regular contact with Tom,
and Michael and Ellen, and knew just about everything
that was going on with World Wide and Rachel's Story.
In fact enormous progress had been made. Thanks to
Vic Warren the script could now boast a pretty good
ending, the major parts were cast and contracted, several
of the sets were complete and nearly all of the finance
was in place. Over at their offices at Paramount the
production team was blazing ahead, and she'd heard
yesterday that a start date for principal photography
had been sealed for October 2nd. As the major location
scenes were being shot in Mexico, Vic Warren had just
returned there, along with the DOP, designer, associate
producers and unit managers. Current estimates were
that they'd need at least eight weeks in the Sierra Madre,
though Michael had confided to her during their last
conversation that they were budgeting for ten.
Sandy wondered how things were now between
Michael and Ellen. She knew they were still living apart,
but whether any steps had been taken towards divorce,
or reconciliation, Tom had never said. She guessed he
probably didn't know anyway, but it wasn't a subject
she liked to press him on, as she was in no hurry to find
out if he was planning to step into Michael's shoes.
It wasn't hard to work out that, despite his efforts to
convince the world to the contrary, life must be pretty
grim for Michael right now, as he was having to deal
with not only the undecided state of his marriage and
Ellen's condition, but also the fact that he was failing to
take control of World Wide. In truth, he was a hell of a
lot further from it now than he'd been eight weeks ago,
when he'd first tested the waters to find out which of the
shareholders might be willing to sell. Mark Bergin,
the Australian industrialist who owned ten per cent of
the stock, had turned him down flat. She'd heard that
Chris Ruskin in New York wasn't keen to part with any
of his eleven per cent either, though even if he were, it
still wouldn't be enough for Michael to take the chair.
Curiously, he hadn't approached her yet, though she
guessed that was because even if she were prepared to
sell some of her twenty-one per cent, he was going to
find it hard to raise the capital to buy. More or less
everything he had was already in World Wide,
including the funds he had borrowed against his shares
in McCann Paull, and the mortgages he had taken on his
apartment in London, villa in the Caribbean and house
in LA. He might have more stashed away, of course, but
she doubted it would be enough to make a serious bid.
Of course, she could help him out by buying up his
share in McCann Paull, which would give her outright
ownership of the London agency. But as it was unlikely
the other World Wide shareholders would be willing to
sell, cash alone wasn't really going to do him much
good. Besides, she couldn't see him letting go of the
agency, no matter how tough he was finding it having
Ted Forgon as a boss.
Stepping out of the shower she reached for a towel
and wandered through to the bedroom. It felt good to be
back at the Four Seasons, though it would feel a whole
lot better to be sharing a room with Tom. She knew she
was going to have to wait a while for that, however, and
wished she could feel more confident that one day it
really would happen. He'd already checked her in by the
time she'd arrived, getting her a room next to his, and
ensuring there were flowers and champagne waiting for
her to make up for the fact that he hadn't managed to get
out to the airport to meet her. He'd left a message to say
he'd be back around seven, so she had half an hour now
to get herself ready.
Though she was doing her best to stay calm, she was
more nervous and excited about seeing him than she
could properly handle. Phone calls and e-mails were so
much easier, even if they were madly unsatisfying. But
somehow, on the phone, she always managed to hold it
together, sounding confident, interested, even witty,
whereas the prospect of coming face to face with him in
the next thirty minutes was making her feel ludicrously
inept and out of her depth. If only she'd been able to get
over to LA as often as she'd hoped, she'd be much more
in the swing of seeing him then, and who could say, they
might actually be having a relationship by now. As it
was, pressure of business in London had kept her there,
and with the way Rachel's Story had started to move
ahead, she had needed to be on the ground to oversee
the transfer of funds from the UK and European
investors. The way things currently stood she was
responsible for raising just under thirty per cent of the
budget, an achievement that had not only sealed her
producer's credit, but had won her something she
prized even more than that, Tom's admiration and
respect.
But that wasn't all she'd gained from Tom, for over the
past two months, since he'd left England, she'd spent all
the free time she had devouring whatever she could find
on metaphysics and spirituality. Zelda had been a great
help, for she knew all about that stuff, and though Sandy
had started out with trepidation and scepticism, she
knew now that her resistance had been based on the fear
that she might not understand it all. But it really wasn't
so difficult, and she was totally fascinated by the
concepts, and the way this new knowledge was changing
her. She was starting to feel much less defensive than
she used to, less fraught and needful of control. By
giving situations room to breathe and time to develop
she was finding they were yielding up far greater
rewards than before. She'd become more patient, and
was trying to struggle less to prove herself in an arena
where she already held centre stage. It wasn't that she
was becoming passive, or even saintly, it was simply
that she was beginning to understand some of the things
Tom had told her about the Universe and its laws.
She sometimes discussed what she was reading with
him, but was still rather shy about it, and afraid she
would appear naive or trite. Besides, it wasn't every day
that she felt in tune with what the books called her
higher self, and she was still a long way from finding a
spiritual means of dealing with her envy of Ellen Shelby
or loathing of Ted Forgon.
But it was neither Ellen nor Forgon who was
concerning her now, it was Tom and what was
happening in Colombia. She had no idea how he
reconciled his anger and need for revenge with his
metaphysical leanings, but since he was very far from
being a saint she considered his outrage not only
reasonable, but human. She was nervous of it though,
for while they were in London he had told her about
calls he'd been receiving from a British journalist who
was based in Bogota. It seemed that Hernan Galeano, the
head of the Tolima Cartel, was making it known, from
his prison cell, that he wasn't happy about some
Hollywood movie that was planning on naming his two
nephews as killers. Tom insisted that he didn't give a
shit what made Galeano happy, the Zapata boys, along
with Salvador Molina, had raped and murdered Rachel,
and if this was the only way he could make them pay
then he sure as hell wasn't going to back off just because
Uncle Hernan didn't like it.
Sandy wondered if Tom had mentioned any of this to
Michael yet. She suspected not, as Michael hadn't
brought it up at all when they'd spoken, and she was
certain he would have. She was equally certain that,
despite the bluster, Tom still harboured a desire to go
back there to settle the score in person, rather than leave
it to the authorities who would be forced to take action
once the movie was released. But even if he didn't go
back, there were plenty of Colombians in the United
States, all kinds of unscrupulous characters, who'd be
only too willing to carry out an assassination for the
great Hernan Galeano. In fact, it was how the script
ended: its only scenes of fiction depicted the vendetta
breaking out on the streets of LA where Tom was hunted
down, trapped, and delivered up to Rachel's killers.
Though in true Hollywood fashion they'd written it so
that Tom managed to escape, as the very last thing any
of them would want was for life to start imitating art in
such dangerous and unpredictable circumstances.
But it could happen, and well she knew it, so the
question she was asking herself now was, should she
warn Michael about the calls Tom was getting, or should
she wait a while longer and see how things developed?

'Hey!' Tom cried, coming in the door. 'How are you?
You look great. How was the flight?'
'Fine,' Sandy answered, returning his embrace. He
smelt so good, felt so big and strong as he held her that
already she could feel herself slipping onto unsteady
ground. 'Thanks for the flowers,' she smiled, 'they're
lovely.'
'Not tired?' he asked. 'Sure you are. But you can make
dinner? We'll stay right here in the hotel, that way if you
keel over I won't have too far to carry you.'
She continued to smile and wondered if he'd noticed
the semi-transparency of her dress. If he had he showed
no sign of it. 'Did you see the sets?' she asked, as he
opened her mini-bar.
'Mmm,' he answered. They're pretty good. Rachel's
office. Our Washington apartment. A foundation for
young prostitutes. Newspaper offices. You name it,
they're building it.' He held up the bottle of champagne.
'Shall I open?'
She nodded. 'As long as we're celebrating seeing each
other again,' she said. 'I missed you.'
He laughed. 'I don't believe it, but I like hearing it. Did
you speak to Michael, by the way? He's finally tied up
the video deal. And he's got the bond company he
wanted, so we're definitely on target for October 2nd.'
Sandy took the glass he was handing her. 'Sounds like
another reason to celebrate,' she said.
They touched glasses and sipped, but when he smiled
down into her eyes she found herself looking away.
'How is Michael?' she said, wondering why she no
longer found it easy to flirt. 'Does he tell you anything
about the way it's working out with Forgon at the helm?'
'He doesn't say much, but I don't think he likes it too
well,' Chambers answered, going to sit down. 'So far
though, the old man's keeping a pretty low profile. At
least where this movie's concerned. He's getting
involved in your twenty-six-parter, I hear?'
Sandy's spirits sank. 'Ellen told you,' she said.
He nodded.
She went to sit down too, facing him on an opposite
armchair. 'Yes, he's showing an interest.' she said.
'Actually, he's been quite helpful, putting Ellen in touch
with various investors and producers.' She paused. 'You
know, I'm surprised she has time when she's so
involved in the movie.'
He laughed. 'You know Ellen,' he said. 'She likes to
keep busy.'
Sandy smiled. She wanted to ask if Ellen was showing
yet, or if there were any signs that she and Michael
might be getting back together, but she wasn't sure she
wanted to hear the answers.
She glanced at Tom again. 'Has Michael talked to you
at all about trying to take back control of World Wide?'
she asked.
He shrugged. 'He just mentioned it was on his
agenda. I think the fact that Forgon's giving him a pretty
free rein with the movie is making it all tolerable for
now. Did he approach you yet, with an offer?'
She shook her head, then laughed. 'I've got to tell you,
I could be tempted to give him all my shares just to see
Forgon go flat on his face. I loathe that man.'
Chambers grinned. 'Fortunately, I don't have too
many dealings with him,' he said, 'but I get the
impression your assessment's pretty universal.'
'Except Ellen seems to get on well with him.'
'I don't think that means she likes him. By the way,
did you catch Matty on Access Hollywood? It was on a
half-hour early tonight.'
Sandy grimaced and put a hand to her head. 'Sorry, I
forgot. How did she get on? Was she good?'
They gave her all of four minutes, but yeah, she was
good. You know, Ellen was right, she's great casting for
Rachel, and since she's got a bit of a profile here, in the
States, she's probably going to bring in a lot more
publicity for the movie than I'd realized. Did I tell you I
keep getting offers too?'
'You mean for interviews? No, you never said. Are
you doing them?'
He shook his head. 'Not right now. Michael wants me
to, obviously, but you know, I'm just not comfortable
with the idea of having my and Rachel's lives picked
apart. They're getting the movie, it's enough.'
Sandy noted how protective he still felt towards
Rachel, and what they'd shared, but rather than jealousy
she experienced a deepening of the tenderness she felt
for him. She'd have liked to call it love, because she was
sure it was, but she was determined not to rush this, the
way she had with Michael.
'Any more calls from Bogota?' she asked.
Though his expression didn't change, she sensed the
stirrings of tension. 'Just one,' he answered.
'From Alan Day?' she said, referring to the journalist
who'd called him before.
He nodded. 'Galeano's still pissed off and still making
noises,' he said.
'Does Alan think there's anything to worry about?'
He shook his head. 'No.'
Sandy wondered if he was telling the truth. If
someone was making threats on his life she couldn't
imagine him telling anyone, even though he'd be a
damned fool not to. This was LA, not Bogota, here the
police responded, and protected.
'Do you think there's any chance that events could
start mirroring the script?' she said. 'I mean, will they
arrange for someone here to come after you?'
He laughed. 'I wouldn't think so,' he answered. 'No,
what Galeano wants is me back in Colombia. On his own
territory he can get away with a whole bunch of stuff
he'd never get away with here.'
'But he's in prison.'
That hasn't stopped him running the cartel. Oh sure,
it slowed him up for a while, but his nephews have
worked pretty hard to put him back on top, and if the
Colombian Congress passes this latest bill, which they
will because he's managed to buy more than half of
them, he could be out any time.'
She was shaking her head in disbelief. 'What kind of
country is it?' she said.
'One that's a bit different to the one you're used to,' he
told her, a glint of humour in his eyes.
'You're not going to go back there, are you?' she said.
'Please tell me you never will.'
He laughed. 'I'll tell you this,' he said, 'if I do ever go
back, it won't be because Galeano's trying to pull my
strings.'
'Not good enough,' she said. 'I want to hear you say
that you'll never go back, no matter what.'
At first he didn't answer and she wished she could
read his mind. He'd once told her what kind of
vengeance he'd planned for Rachel's killers. It was
horrible, too horrible even to think about, yet in truth
was no more violent or grotesque than what they had
done to Rachel. How could anything be that bad?
She continued to look at him, and when his dark eyes
at last came back to hers she stared into them as they
slowly searched her face. 'Believe me,' he said, his voice
so soft she could barely hear him, 'the last place on God's
earth I ever want to go again is Colombia.'
She swallowed. 'Even to track down Salvador
Molina?'
Though he didn't drop his gaze, his face was suddenly
hard and she knew already that even if she got an
answer it wouldn't be the one she wanted. In the end all
he said was, 'I think we should change the subject.'

Michael's mood was good. He wasn't too sure why
when his life was all but falling apart, but he guessed it
had a lot to do with Robbie. His child's love was given
so readily, and undemandingly, and his joy was so
easily shared and infectious, that even the ache Michael
felt for Ellen was sometimes soothed just by the sound of
Robbie's laughter. He wished to God he could spend
more time with him, but all too often the pressing
demands of work got in the way. And it was only going
to get worse now the movie was so close to starting. This
was why he had made an effort to spend the entire
weekend with his son, because there was no way of
knowing when they'd be able to do it again.
So far they'd had a great time, riding their bikes along
the beach at Santa Monica; taking a boat trip around the
marina and laughing uproariously when Clodagh's hat
took off in the wind; watching two movies back to back
and creeping several rows forward when Clodagh fell
asleep; and hiding from her on Sunday morning in order
to get out of going to church.
She was now back from mass and refusing to speak to
them as she banged about in the kitchen, clearing up
after lunch. Michael was sitting at a table next to the
pool, shaded from the scorching sun by a mahogany
framed parasol, while Robbie tried to teach Spot to dive.
Though he'd vowed not to do any work this weekend,
he was using these quiet few minutes to go over the
bond documents again, reading through clauses the
World Wide lawyers either wanted added or clarified
before Michael and Ted Forgon signed. As far as he
could tell there was nothing to get excited about, it all
looked pretty straightforward, and as the most
important aspect, the completion guarantee, had all the
right figures and conditions attached, he could see no
reason not to go public now with the start date.
As calm and philosophical as he was attempting to be,
in truth he was as nervous as hell about this movie, for it
wasn't only his first major feature as an executive
producer, it was by far and away the biggest budget he
had ever handled. Added to that was the fact that, one
way or another, virtually everything he owned was
wrapped up in this film, and though he stood to make
untold millions if it was a success, if anything were to go
wrong it wouldn't only be his reputation and career on
the line, it would be just about his entire life.
But nothing was going to go wrong. The script was in
shape, the money was in place and the cast and crew
were the best in their field. Matty was working out great,
getting stacks of publicity already, and, from what Vic
had been telling him, was so inside Rachel's skin it was
spooky. Whether or not Tom agreed with that Michael
had no idea, it wasn't the kind of thing they discussed,
though Ellen had been at rehearsals a few days ago
when Tom had gaped in astonishment, then growing
discomfort, at the amazing impersonation Richard
Conway had done of him.
Casting was virtually complete now, deals were being
sewn up on the Mexican locations, and the sets, which
were being built over at Paramount, were due to be
finished any day. Sandy, who'd been in town for the past
three weeks, had been over several times to look at them,
and was regularly reporting back to her investors in Europe.
Thinking about Sandy, Michael couldn't help
wondering about the changes in her lately. He couldn't
put his finger on what they were exactly, except that
there was a very subtle kind of difference in the way she
approached things, and a quiet confidence and
sophistication in her manner that was much more
alluring than the aggressive sexuality she had once
turned on him. Whether this was working for Chambers,
though, was something of a mystery, because though
the two of them seemed pretty close, his calls were
always put through to separate rooms at the Four
Seasons - and there was nothing, when he was with
them, to suggest anything more than friendship. If he
was right, then he just hoped to God that the reason
Chambers was holding back had nothing to do with
Ellen - but that wasn't something he could afford to
dwell on if he wanted to get through the next few
months with his sanity intact.
With his thoughts still on Sandy, he wondered again
whether he should approach her about her shares in
World Wide while she was here. He hadn't really been
surprised when the others had turned him down, right
now there was a very good chance that World Wide
could strike Hollywood gold with Rachel's Story, so all of
them were much more interested in buying than selling.
Besides, he hadn't yet worked out a way of raising the
funds, and Sandy, perhaps more than anyone, was
aware of how deeply in debt he already was, which was
why he had so far held off approaching her. For all the
delicate changes she was exhibiting in her personal life,
she was still a damned shrewd businesswoman and he
wasn't in much doubt that, even if she were prepared to
sell, the price she would exact for her shares would be
crippling.
For the time being though, he comforted himself with
the fact that Forgon appeared to be keeping his nose out
of the movie, and as long as it continued that way there
was no immediate need for a takeover. Even so, he'd be
a whole lot happier if he'd managed one, as he didn't for
one moment relish the fact that Forgon had final say on
what was turning into a near twenty-five-million-dollar
budget - especially not when a good percentage of that
figure was being supported by Michael's worldly
possessions.
'Daddy?' Robbie said.
Michael looked up to find him sitting on the edge of
the pool staring in.
'Yes?' Michael answered.
Robbie's head remained bowed, as he swung his feet
back and forth in the water. 'You know what I told you
about Alex's mum and dad?' he said.
'Yes,' Michael answered.
His feet did several more circles. 'Well,' he said,
'what's divorce, Dad?'
Michael looked at his son's bony little shoulders and
felt the weight of his burden. He knew how deeply
troubled Robbie was by all that was going on around
him, and wished to God he could give him some
answers that would help. 'It means that his mum and
dad won't be married any more,' he said gently.
Robbie sat with that for a while, and Michael braced
himself for what was coming next. They'd had this
conversation about Alex's parents before, so he knew
which line they were going to tread, and it never failed
to cut.
'Are you still married to Ellen?' he said in a small,
hollow voice.
'Yes,' Michael answered.
'Are you going to get divorced?'
Michael looked out to the spectacular swell of the
mountains, and unblemished blue of the sky. The day
was so clear, the air so still and hot, that the view seemed
more like a painting, too garish, too vital to be real. In a
way it was like the pain inside him, too vivid, too
pressing to be true. He couldn't answer Robbie's
question, for he had no answers where Ellen was
concerned. All he knew was how hard he struggled to
suppress the pain, how he fought not to miss her, yet
continued to long for her in every imaginable way. But
no matter how deeply he loved her, how desperate he
was to have her back in his life, he just couldn't get past
the fact that she could be carrying another man's child.
Not even the doubt made it any easier to handle; he
sometimes wondered if in some way it actually made it
harder.
What he needed was to find a way of dealing with his
pride, for he knew that it was what had robbed him of
the first four years of Robbie's life. But though he'd
rather die than do something like that again, each time
he felt ready to speak to Ellen he would find himself
thinking about the baby, and what he was going to do
should it turn out to be Tom's. Try as he might, he just
couldn't see himself accepting it as his, but even if he
could, he had to face the fact that Tom was going to have
some say in it then, and there was every chance Tom
would want to be as hands-on with his child as Michael
now was with Robbie.
Robbie turned round to look at him. 'Are you going to
get divorced?' he repeated.
Michael lowered his eyes to his. 'I don't know.' he
answered.
Robbie's face was wrought with confusion. 'Is Ellen
angry with me?' he said. 'Is that why she won't live with
us any more?'
Michael put down his papers and went to sit next to
him. 'She's got nothing to be angry with you about.' he
said, dangling his legs in the water. 'She loves you, and
I know she'd love to see you, if you wanted to.'
Robbie's eyes came up to his.
Michael smiled past the turmoil. 'Why don't you let
me drive you over there, then you two can spend some
time together? She's not mad at you, I promise.'
It pained him so deeply to know that Robbie was
blaming himself for the break-up that he had already
mentioned it to Ellen in the hope she might know what
to do. It was why he'd suggested that Robbie went over
to see her now, for it had been her idea that he should, as
soon as Robbie was ready.
'Shall we call her?' Michael prompted.
Robbie looked down at the pool again, his tender little
body hunched with indecision. 'Can I take Spot?' he said
finally.
Michael smiled. 'Of course,' he said.
Robbie called out to his dog, who leapt out of a quiet
doze in the shade and trotted into the house after him.
'Do you want to speak to her yourself?' Michael
offered, as he dialled the number.
Robbie shook his head. 'No, you do it,' he said.
Michael looked down at his worried little face and felt
his throat tighten with emotion.
Matty answered on the fourth ring. 'Oh hi, Michael.'
she said, disguising the surprise she must have felt.
'Ellen's not here, I'm afraid. She's gone over to take a
look at one of the sets.'
Michael was still looking at Robbie. 'OK,' he said. 'I'll
catch up with her later.'
As he rang off he could see that Robbie's
disappointment was almost as great as his own. 'I
know,' he suggested, after telling Robbie where she was,
'how about we go and take a look at the sets too?'
Robbie looked undecided. He was obviously having a
difficult time with this. 'Will it be like the outer-space
one we saw with all those monsters?' he said.
'Not really,' Michael answered, 'but we don't want to
frighten Gran, do we?'
Robbie grinned, then with Spot barrelling along
happily at his heels, he went off to get dressed.

An hour later the three of them, and Spot, were heading
along Melrose towards Paramount. Clodagh,
thoroughly approving of their mission, had forgiven
them for being heathens and was getting as excited as
Robbie at the possibility they might bump into the
famous Richard Conway.
Michael was quiet as Robbie and his mother chattered
on, steering the car through the traffic and trying to deal
with what was going on inside him. He knew how much
Robbie's visit was going to mean to Ellen, how much it
meant to him too. They were still a family, albeit
fractured right now, but maybe they were going to find
a way of putting it back together. He had to remember
that there was a chance the child was his, and even if it
wasn't Ellen was still his wife. It was the way he wanted
it to stay. The very idea of divorce was unthinkable, it
simply wasn't an option, not when he loved her this
much. He just had to come to terms with what had
happened, and why it had happened, and, like she said,
take some responsibility himself.
'OK, wait here,' he said, pulling the car into the
parking lot. 'I'll just go and check she's still here, and see
if there's any construction going on. If there is we might
need some hard hats.'
He'd visited the soundstage several times before, so
knew his way through the maze of buildings and
alleyways that finally led to the sets for Rachel's Story. A couple of trucks were parked outside, backs open as
huge blocks of scenery and set dressing were transported
in through the vast soundproofed doors. There
was a lot of hammering going on inside, a radio blasting
and builders and electricians swarming over scaffolding
and along the gantries. Spotting a couple of the line
producers in conference with the designer and art
director, he skirted a disorderly pile of foliage and
started heading their way.
'Is Ellen here?' he asked one of them as they turned to
greet him.
'Yeah, at least she was five minutes ago,' he answered.
'She was over at the hostage set. Do you know where it
is?'
Michael nodded, thanked him and walked off in the
direction of a newspaper office. As he recalled, the hostage
set was behind it. He was right, and from the look
of it, as he rounded one of the walls, it was pretty near
complete. There had been a lot of discussion about this
set, as no-one actually knew where Rachel had been held
during her three days in captivity, so it had been up to
Tom and the designers to create something plausible.
Since Tom had interviewed a number of ex-hostages in
Colombia, he'd had a better idea than most of the kind of
conditions she could have been held in, and since it
wasn't a guerilla kidnapping they'd dispensed with the
idea of a remote forest camp or mountain village. What
they'd opted for was apparently more in keeping with a
cartel-style kidnapping, a room in a large old house,
with boarded-up windows, an old wooden bed and a
menacing network of overhead beams.
It was odd how even the air in the set was giving off a
vibe that was chilling. He knew there was still much
more dressing to come, mirrors flecked with mould,
chains on the bed, dingy paintings, cracked china, an
incongruously cheerful rug, but already he was getting
a sense of how it was going to look - and worse, how it
must have felt.
He stood looking at it for some time, very quiet, and
still, allowing himself to be drawn into the ambient
menace. After a while he could almost hear the distant
echoes of Rachel's screams. It was as though they were
coming out of the walls, pulling him in to her nightmare,
guiding him with silent, agonized cries to the terror she
had known as she was raped and beaten, tossed from
one man to the next, punched so hard in the face that her
nose was broken and her teeth knocked loose. He felt his
hands tighten at his sides, his muscles tense, as though
there were something he could do to stop it. But it was
over, finished, locked in the past, a brutal, irreversible
moment in time.
His eyes remained on the bed as he considered again
how it must have been for Chambers. But that kind of
anguish was impossible to imagine. It was no surprise
the man wanted revenge, because, God knew, if it had
happened to Ellen there was nothing he wouldn't do to
make those responsible pay for their crime. But still the
killers lived, not only at liberty, but no doubt in some
kind of perverted glory for sending one American to hell
everlasting, while the other remained in hell on earth.
He turned away, knowing that whatever personal
issues he and Chambers might have, he was right not to
have let them get in the way of the film. This story
needed to be told, those who had committed the rape
and murder had to face justice.
As he walked away he was still bound in his thoughts,
so affected by the last few minutes that he was only
vaguely aware of what was going on around him.
Gradually the sound of workmen began to reach him, as
a distant square of daylight popped in over a graffiti
covered wall. He glanced off to his right, to a set that was
almost lost in darkness. Then, without really knowing
why, he felt his whole body turning slowly to ice. Maybe
it was because of the shadow, or maybe it was because
of the strangeness of his thoughts, whatever it was, it
was a moment before he could really connect with what
he was seeing. When he did so, his head started to spin
and emotions sprang through his chest that shut down
his breath. It seemed like an eternity that he was held
there, looking at Ellen, so lost in the depth of Chambers's
embrace that she hadn't even noticed Michael's
presence.
He continued to watch her, bound by the refusal to
believe, yet compelled by the fact that he must. His
heartbeat was starting to pound - he felt his life falling
apart. He wanted to reach out, tear them apart, stop
whatever was between them from happening. But it was
too late for that, she was carrying Chambers's child, so
without uttering a word he turned and walked quietly
away.
Chapter 18

As Ellen pulled back from Tom's arms she could feel her
cheeks warming with colour. She looked up into his face
and smiled, awkwardly, even shyly, then laughing she
said, 'I guess it was me who needed that. I hope you
don't mind.'
'It was my pleasure,' he told her, in the droll, self
mocking way he so often assumed.
Ellen laughed again. She'd intended the hug to be a
comfort to him, but when he had put his arms around
her she'd realized just how much she had needed it too.
It had gone on perhaps a little longer than either of them
had intended, but there had been such a warmth to it,
such a shared yet unspoken understanding, that neither
had been in a hurry to let go. It was the first physical
contact they'd had since the night they'd made love, and
though she still couldn't deny how attractive she found
him, there wasn't a moment's doubt in her mind that the
arms she really wanted to hold her were Michael's. She
missed him so much, and some days, like today, were
much harder to bear than others.
Glancing quickly around she said, 'I should be going.
I've got a plan for this evening that I really hope is going
to work out.'
His handsome face showed yet more irony. 'Then I
wish you luck,' he responded.
Ellen knew it was a mask, one he hid behind rather
than let anyone see the anguish, or sadness, he was
feeling. Or perhaps it was anger he was disguising, fury
even, at the still unfinished business in Colombia.
Though she didn't imagine he ever forgot it, seeing the
hostage set had to have been the most brutal of
reminders, and with the shoot date coming so close, he
was surely thinking, wondering, how effective the
movie would be. Would it be enough to bring Rachel's
killers to justice, and in turn would that be enough for
him?
Ellen hoped to God it would be, for the last thing she
wanted was to see him returning to Colombia to try once
again to take his revenge on the men who had destroyed
his and Rachel's lives. Though she could certainly
understand his need to do that, it wasn't the answer, for
if he killed Molina and the Zapata brothers he would be
allowed no future other than behind the bars of some
godawful Colombian jail. However, one thing was for
certain, he needed some closure on this or he was never
going to get on with his life.
'Come on, I'll walk you to your car,' he said, starting
back towards the newspaper office and general chaos
that was going on beyond.
'What are you going to do now?' she asked, falling in
beside him.
'Me?' he said, sounding surprised. 'I don't know. I'll
probably catch a movie, or go over some of the stuff our
estimable star is testing me with.'
Ellen smiled, for Richard Conway's attempt to get
inside Tom's head for the purposes of his role wasn't an
exercise that Tom was enjoying. 'Sandy not around?' she
said.
He stopped to pick up a wrench that one of the
builders had just dropped. 'She flew over to New York
yesterday,' he answered, passing the wrench over. 'One
of her clients is auditioning for some Broadway show
next week, she's gone to lend some moral support. I
think she's got other business while she's there, so she
doesn't reckon on being back until the end of the week.'
'She's coming back here?' Ellen said, standing aside as
a couple of drapers carried past a ladder. 'How's she
managing to be out of London for so long?'
Tom glanced at her with comically raised brows and
Ellen laughed.
'So there is something between you two?' she said.
'We're good friends,' he answered.
Though she longed to know more, she reined in her
curiosity, sensing it wouldn't really be welcome. And
why would it be when his love life was none of her
business, nor was it a subject she'd be entirely
comfortable discussing. Though she had to confess that
she wouldn't be too happy to learn that he was getting it
on with Sandy, for despite Sandy's recent morph into a
reasonable and sane individual, she certainly wasn't
Ellen's idea of the kind of woman Tom needed.
'Looks like Joe and the others left already,' she said,
referring to the designer and line producers. 'I needed to
speak to him, but I'll call him later. Are you going to be
there for the press call tomorrow?'
Tom grinned. 'Can you see Michael letting me get out
of it?' he responded.
Ellen laughed. 'And no more should he,' she replied.
'You're a major bonus in the publicity package, whether
you like it or not. People are going to want to see you
every bit as much as they're going to want to see Richard
Conway.'
'I think that might be overdoing it a bit,' he commented.
'For a start he's younger and better-looking.'
'Younger maybe,' she teased. 'And you don't have a
manager who's a royal pain in the butt.'
They'd reached her car by now and as she opened the
door to get in, she said, 'Why don't you give Matty a
call? I don't think she's doing anything later, maybe you
could take in a movie together.'
He shrugged. 'OK, I might do that.' he answered.
Ellen looked up into his warm grey eyes and was
fleetingly tempted to hug him again, for no other reason
than she was feeling horribly anxious about her plans for
the evening, and a squeeze from Tom might just help
bolster her nerve.
As she pulled out of the parking lot a few minutes
later a quick glance in her mirror showed him walking
back towards the sound stage. Her heart sank, as she
didn't want to think about him returning to the set and
trying to deal with everything it must be evoking. It was
why she had called him earlier and asked him to meet
her there, so that she could be around when he first saw
the re-creation of Rachel's final surroundings.
Though he'd hidden it well she knew it had shaken
him deeply, but that was probably nothing to what he
was going to feel when it came to the re-enactment of
what had happened in that room. There had been
extremely long and detailed discussions on how those
scenes were going to be handled, discussions that Tom
hadn't always taken part in, preferring to leave it to Vic
Warren to decide. God, this had to be a difficult time for
him, and Ellen could only feel dismayed at herself for
depriving him of the one friendship he could probably
really do with right now, the one with Michael.
But she was about to try and do something about that,
for the way she and Michael were going on couldn't be
allowed to continue.
Pulling down her sun-visor to block out the dazzling
afternoon sun, she motored on for a while, swinging the
car up onto Sunset, then continuing until she reached
Chalet Gourmet, a pricey and exclusive grocery store
not far from the Director's Guild. Despite being a
Sunday, there were still precious few spaces in the
parking lot and the guy in the car behind was so close on
her tail that she was tempted to slam on her brakes just
to annoy him. He'd been with her almost since she'd left
the studio, and it seemed he was keen on staying there.
She hated being hassled like this, but rather than get into
a fight, she pulled over to let him pass. As he came up
alongside her she was sorely tempted to give him the
finger, but there were so many crazies in this town it
probably wouldn't be wise, especially not as he was
slowing right down.
Looking over at him she saw that he was like a
hundred other Latinos who drove that kind of old Betsy,
with rusted paintwork, balding tyres and no tax or
insurance. What the hell he was doing in the parking lot
of a place like Chalet Gourmet had to be a whole other
story, except in his deluded state he was obviously
trying to pick her up. She glared at him, then felt her skin
crawl at the smile he gave back. It was a smile that was
missing teeth and conveying lechery in such a
repugnant way that she actually shivered. Men like that
were so loathsome they should be locked up just for
existing.
He was signalling for her to lower her window, and
since she could go neither forward nor back, she pressed
a button and complied. By now she was too angry to be
afraid, which was probably exactly what he was getting
off on, so in as pleasant a voice as she could muster she
said, 'Drive on, buster. I'm due at the AIDS clinic by
four.'
His eyes were hidden by shades, but she saw his smile
broaden before he treated her to an obscene, masturbatory
gesture, then finally drove on. He said something
too, something that sounded familiar despite his accent,
but it must have been her imagination for there was just
no way he could know her name. Besides, not even she
referred to herself as Mrs McCann, so it had to have been
something Spanish that just sounded like that.
An hour later she was carrying her shopping into the
apartment and exchanging a quick hello with Matty who
was on her way out.
'Don't wait dinner for me,' Matty said, 'there's some
kind of panic going on with a couple of the costumes.
I'm going over there now, and God only knows how
long it's going to take. Oh, and I've got wig fittings in the
morning, Vic wants you and Tom to be there so we can
get the look right. Pierre's going to do the cut, and he
wants to know if we need any more hairdressing
assistants. He's got four on stand by.'
'Tell him to talk to Lucy, she's in charge of all that,'
Ellen responded, dumping her bags in the kitchen.
'What time's the wig fitting? Don't forget we've got a
press call.'
'It's before. At nine. The press call's at eleven, so
plenty of time. Oh, by the way, Michael called.'
Ellen turned round. 'When?' she said.
Matty shrugged. 'A couple of hours ago. No message.
He just said he'd catch up with you later.'
Ellen's insides had gone watery. 'He didn't want me
to call back?' she said.
'Mm, mm,' Matty answered, shaking her head as she
popped a grape. 'Boy, these are good. But call him
anyway, if you want to. He's your husband, after all.'
'He's also a co-exec, producer,' Ellen reminded her.
'Meaning the call will have been work-related.'
'But you were hoping otherwise,' Matty said. 'I could
see it in your eyes. You know, if you ask me, this has
gone on long enough . ..'
'Spare me the lecture,' Ellen said, holding up her
hand. 'I'm in total agreement, which is why I've got all
this food - I'm going to invite him - and Robbie and
Clodagh - over for dinner tonight. I thought it would be
a step in the right direction.'
'I won't argue with that,' Matty responded. 'Now I've
got to fly. Have a good time, all of you, and save a couple
of mouthfuls for me.'
'You mean you're eating?' Ellen called after her. 'What
about dieting for those love scenes?'
Matty scowled at her menacingly, then, coming back
for a handful of grapes, she kissed her on the cheek and
left.
Ellen carried on with her unpacking, picking up the
phone as it rang and tucking it into her shoulder. It was
Sandy calling from New York, wanting to know if Ellen
had the latest budget forecasts for the twenty-six-parter As it happened there were copies in Ellen's briefcase, so
they spent the next fifteen minutes going over them, in
preparation for a meeting Sandy was having the next
day.
When finally she rang off Ellen was even more
perplexed and irritated by Sandy than usual. There was
just no way she was taken in by this new, saintly
persona, although she found herself responding to it as
though she were. It was hard being frosty with someone
who seemed so friendly, but as chatty and agreeable as
she was being Ellen remained convinced that the
woman was a bitch, and maybe an increasingly
dangerous one now that she was finding more effective
ways to hide it.
Going back to the kitchen she finished unpacking her
bags, then, allowing herself no time for nerves or
procrastination, she picked up the phone to call Michael.
But before she could dial it rang, and for the next half
hour she was tied up again on all kinds of problems and
decisions concerning the movie. Knowing it had taken
over Michael's life too, she couldn't help wondering
how he was feeling right now, just a week away from the
cameras rolling. No doubt he was as nervous and
apprehensive as she was - or perhaps terrified would be
a more accurate description - that something might go
wrong.
She didn't want to be thinking about all that now
though, she wanted to put it to one side and let them
have at least this one evening as a family before
everything rolled past the start line. It would be their
first time together for more than three months, since
before the wedding, and before the bombshell that had
all but torn their lives apart.
'Hi, it's me,' she said when he answered the phone.
She waited, feeling her heart trip on his silence, but
reminding herself it was his pride again, she put a
laugh in her voice as she said, 'I was in the mood for
cooking and thought you all might like to come and
join me.'
There was a moment's pause before he said, 'I don't
think so.'
She was stunned. It hadn't even occurred to her that
he might turn her down, so she wasn't at all prepared for
what to say next. 'Why not?' she finally managed.
'I just don't.' he said.
She was trying hard to establish some sense here, as
his manner was nothing like it had been these past few
weeks in the office, when she'd started to believe that he
might at last be coming round to the idea of working
something out. She felt suddenly panicked, as though
everything was slipping away from her, but pulling
herself quickly together she said, 'You must have a
reason.'
'You know the reason.' he told her. 'We can put on a
front for other people, but the pretence ends there.'
'What pretence?' she said, feeling her head start to
spin. 'I love you, Michael, there's no pretence about
that.'
His answer was so harsh she could hardly believe he
had said it. 'I don't know what your game is, Ellen,' he
snapped, 'but if you think you can string us both along
until you know who the father is, then think again.'
'What do you mean? What are you talking about?' she
cried.
'You know what I'm talking about.' he responded,
and before she could protest any further he hung up.
She gazed around the apartment, momentarily
stunned, then snatching up her bag, she took out her
address book and rapidly started to dial. Joe, the
designer, wasn't home, so she tried his mobile, while
flicking through the pages to find a number for one of
the line producers. No reply from Joe's mobile, and as
she clicked off the line a call came in from one of the cast
which she dealt with, then started to dial again.
She knew it was guilt that was driving her, that the
chances of Michael knowing about that shared moment
with Tom were minimal, but it was standing out so
sharply in her mind that she had to find out if someone
had seen, and then told him. At last she tracked down
Ron Hubbard, one of the stage managers who'd been on
the set earlier.
'No, I didn't speak to Michael today,' he said when
Ellen asked. 'But I saw him.'
'Saw him?' she said, her heart starting to beat even
faster. 'Where?'
'He was over at the set, looking for you. I guess he
didn't find you, huh?'
'Oh my God,' Ellen breathed, then remembering who
she was talking to she mumbled a quick goodbye and
rang off. 'Oh my God,' she muttered again. 'What
timing! What lousy rotten timing!'
The phone rang.
'Yes,' she barked into it.
'Ellen, I've got someone from The Gossip Show on the
other line,' the senior publicist told her. 'They're asking
if you want to comment on some rumour they've heard
about a romance between you and Tom Chambers.'
Ellen's eyes were wide with shock, as a voice inside
screamed out for this to stop. 'Are you insane?' she cried.
'There's no romance between me and Tom Chambers,
and I want to know who the hell said there was.'
'The woman's not going to reveal her source,' the
publicist told her. 'Do you want me to deny it, or do you
want to go the "no comment" route?'
'Deny it,' Ellen snapped. 'Deny it categorically, and
tell her if she goes public I'll sue.'
She slammed the phone down, was about to turn
away when it rang again.
'Yes?'
'Hello Mrs McCann,' a soft, gravelly voice at the other
end said, 'you don't know me, but I want you to know
I'm a friend. And as a friend, I would advise you to pull
out of the movie you are making
'Oh great! Just what I need, a whacko,' she seethed,
and slamming down the receiver, she picked up her
purse and keys and ran out the door.
Fifteen minutes later she was pulling up behind
Michael's car where it was parked in the drive. Going
over to the front door, she knocked hard.
Clodagh answered, her small, wrinkly face showing
surprise, then pleasure, when she saw who it was. 'Oh
my, how lovely it is to see you,' she said, giving Ellen a
hug. 'We went over to the set to find you today, but
you'd already left. Come along in now. Will you be
staying for supper?'
Ellen didn't answer as she saw Michael getting up
from the sofa where he'd been sitting with Robbie. His
face showed no welcome at all, and she could feel her
heart thumping as it struggled between anger and
despair. She looked at Robbie who was watching her
with big, uncertain eyes, and for one horrible moment
she felt her nerve failing.
But she was quickly past it and looking at Michael
again she said, 'I need to talk to you.'
If it had been in him to resist he must have decided
against it, probably, she guessed, because he didn't want
a showdown in front of Robbie. He turned towards their
bedroom, and, glancing at Clodagh who gave her best
reassuring smile, Ellen followed.
He was standing beside the bed as she closed the door
behind her. She felt momentarily light-headed, as
though in some strange, undefinable way she was
closing them off from reality, sealing them into a place
where neither of them quite knew how to behave. She
could see the hostility in his eyes, almost feel his efforts
to keep her at bay, yet it was the very power of his
resistance that was drawing her to him, enveloping her
in the maelstrom of pride and anguish that was causing
him so much pain.
She took a breath and said, 'I know you saw me with
Tom, and I know what you must have thought, but
you're wrong, Michael. It wasn't the way it might have
looked. It was simply me trying to give him some
comfort when he saw the set. It was nothing more than
that, I swear. I love you, I've always loved you, and even
the goddamned pride you're putting between us now
isn't going to stop me loving you.'
His face didn't change, nor did he speak, but it was his
silence that encouraged her to go on.
'Michael, please stop doing this,' she implored. 'I
know you love me, and I know how much I hurt you,
but don't you care what this is doing to me too? I want
us to be together, to work through this and . . .' Words
were starting to fail her, as she had no clear idea of what
she wanted to say, whether she should tell him about the
baby now, or what she should do. 'I know you feel you
can't make love to me again,' she said, 'but you can, you
know you can and I want you to. Michael, please. I can't
bear this, wanting you so much and ...' She hardly knew
what she was doing, was giving herself no time to think,
as she began taking off her clothes, shedding them as
though they were veils around her emotions, until
finally she stood naked before him.
His eyes didn't waver from hers, their fierceness
seeming to see so far into her that even her nudity wasn't
enough. She waited, willing him to move, to say
something, even if it was to tell her to go. Each second
that passed was more excruciating than the last. The air
on her skin was a whisper of pain; the small swell of her
child a heaviness that seemed minutely to grow. Though
he wouldn't look she knew he could see it, a blur on the
edge of his vision, a stone in the heart of his pain. She
could feel her image in his eyes, as though he were
smothering her with fear and anger and a growing need
to hurt and love her.
It was hard to breathe. The air was static with feeling;
sensations seared through her body with an intensity
that burned and a need that curled into every hidden
place. Her eyes were wide, her breasts were heavy and
laden with desire. Her hands hung at her sides, wanting
to reach, to feel, to bring him to her. Then he was coming
towards her, reaching for her, pulling her harshly
against him. His mouth came crushing down on hers,
his tongue pushing between her lips, his hands cupping
her buttocks and lifting her to him.
She tore at his shirt, returning his kisses with the
urgency and passion that was inflaming them both. Very
soon he was naked and she pressed herself to him,
feeling his strength and hardness and sinking into the
power of his need. Her fingers raked his hair, pulling his
mouth down harder on hers, as his hands moved to her
breasts, taking their weight and squeezing them,
twisting her nipples, and kissing her harder than ever as
his fingers pushed between her legs.
She was gasping and murmuring, holding him tightly
as her desire became so intense that emotion was lost in
its vastness. Yet it was only because of their love that
they could take each other like this, devouring each
other's lust with a hunger that knew no repletion.
She lay back on the bed and pulled him down with
her. He came to her, swollen with urgency, hardened by
the power of desire and love. Their eyes were on each
other's, smouldering with need, drinking in the reflected
wells of emotion. And then he was there, entering her,
pushing into her, filling her until he could go no further.
He held himself there, looking down at her and feeling
the invisible bonds that enclosed them, that locked them
together despite all he did to keep them apart.
She raised her hands to his face, touching his lips with
her thumbs, brushing his ears with her fingers. Then he
pulled back and pushed into her again. His voice
grunted from his lips as he rammed her again and again.
She met his pounding with a magnificent force, rising up
to take him, using her hips to mirror the frantic rhythm
of his own. The muscles in his arms were straining as he
continued to hold himself over her, and they watched
the movement of their bodies seeking to scale the final
barriers to release.
'Oh my God,' she cried, as suddenly he changed
motion.
He grabbed her to him, taking her lips with his own
and holding her so close it was as though they were one.
He was still solid inside her, and could feel the pulsing
beat of her climax as it tugged and clenched with a life of
its own.
'Michael,' she murmured again, and again he was
kissing her, emptying his heart through the movement
of his body.
'I love you,' he whispered.
'I love you too. Oh Michael, don't let me go.'
His embrace tightened, and as he began kissing her
again he felt the seed rushing from him, filling her,
soaking her and shooting deep, deep inside her. Her
moans of pleasure vibrated through his lips, her legs
entwined his and her hands pressed him even more
closely to her.
They lay that way for a long, long time, neither
wanting to let go, dreading the moment their bodies
would part. They could feel the quieting throb of each
other's hearts, the stickiness of their sweat, the pull of
their limbs. It was as though they were shielding
themselves from the world, wanting to close out
encroaching reality as they were shutting out the air
between them.
In the end Ellen was the first to move, pulling her head
back to look into his face.
He kissed her softly on the mouth, and as her eyes
closed she felt her heart fill up with hope. She wasn't
sure if she could speak, if she dared to ask the questions
in her heart, but then she heard herself saying, 'Please,
Michael, tell me it's going to be all right. Say we can get
past this.'
She looked into his eyes, waiting and willing, until
finally he looked away and her breath stopped coming.
'Would it help,' she said, panic forcing the words from
her lips, 'if I told you the baby was yours?'
Though he didn't move, she felt the effect of her
words ripple through him. She hadn't intended to tell
him like this, but the words had just come, so she
watched his face and wished desperately that she could
read his mind. The minutes ticked by and when still he
didn't speak the chill of instinct began warning her that
she wasn't going to receive the response she had hoped
for.
'Even if you could tell me that now,' he said finally, 'I
still can't tell you it would change anything. I wish to
God it could, because I love you, we both know that, I
just don't know if we can go back to where we were.'
'But who's talking about going back?' she cried. 'We
need to go forward, to put it all behind us and build a life
for our baby.'
His expression wasn't one to encourage her.
'Oh my God,' she murmured, drawing away. 'You do
believe me, don't you? Tell me you believe it's yours.'
His eyes were steeped in anguish as he said, 'God
knows I want to believe it, I just don't know if...'
'Then do the math!' she cried. 'You can work it out for
yourself. I'm five and a half months pregnant. Michael,
please! You can talk to the doctor, she'll tell you, the
baby's due in December, so it has to be yours.'
As he looked at her she could see how hard he was
finding it to adjust, how afraid he was of accepting.
'Michael! Why are you doing this? I don't understand
'I'm
sorry,' he said, 'the last thing I want is to hurt you,
but I can't live a lie ...'
'Where's the lie?' she shouted. 'The baby's yours, I
swear it.. .'
He was shaking his head.
'Michael! Don't do this!' she cried. 'Why won't you
believe it's yours?'
'Even if it is,' he cried, 'can you tell me honestly, in
your heart, that you no longer want Tom?'
She looked at him in amazement. 'Of course I don't
want Tom,' she replied. 'I love you. Why else do you
think I'm here?'
He got up from the bed and going after him she spun
him back to face her. 'Michael, listen to me,' she
demanded. 'What happened, happened. You made love
to Michelle, I made love to Tom. We were both at fault,
we made mistakes and now we're paying. But for God's
sake, don't make the baby pay too.'
'Do you think that's what I want?' he replied.
'No, I don't. But it's what's going to happen if you
won't accept that I don't want Tom any more than you
want Michelle.' She would have gone on, but the look
that suddenly came into his eyes snatched the breath
from her body.
'Oh my God,' she murmured, taking a step back, 'tell
me I'm not reading this right. Please, tell me you're not
using this as an excuse to go back to Michelle.' She was
too appalled, too stricken by fear to go on.
Again he was shaking his head. 'This has got nothing
to do with Michelle,' he said. 'It's to do with you and
what I saw today. I don't know how many times you've
slept with him, Ellen, and I don't want to know . . .'
'Michael, are you crazy? Didn't what we just did tell
you anything? You were there, you felt it too, so don't
you think it was the same for me? There's no-one else I
want, no-one, do you hear me?' Tears were sliding down
her face, but she was too distraught to feel them.
He started to speak, but suddenly her rage and
frustration burst out of control. 'No!' she yelled. 'I'm not
taking any more of this. If you can't deal with the fact
that I slept with another man, if you can't forgive me
when I'm prepared to forgive you, then you just don't
deserve the way I feel about you.'
He watched as she picked up her clothes and began
putting them on.
'You're a fool, Michael McCann,' she told him. 'You're
so afraid to trust that you're screwing up both our lives
and you don't even care. So, OK, Michelle walked out on
you once, and OK, she was pregnant when she went, but
that doesn't mean it's going to happen again.'
'It already is.' he reminded her.
'Because you're making it happen!' she almost
screamed. 'You won't let me in, you keep shutting me
out and telling me I want another man, when you're not
even listening to what I'm telling you. Well, I've had it,
do you know that? I'm through with trying to make you
listen. So let's do this your way and see just how far we
can really fuck this up.'
There's always another option,' he said as she
reached the door.
She turned back, eyes bright with tears, cheeks
flushed with anger.
'Divorce,' he said.
Despite the pain she came forward, advancing on him
with such intent it was as though she would strike him.
'If you really mean that,' she said, 'then you're not the
man I thought you were. And if you're not the man I
thought you were, then maybe we should get a divorce.'
After the door closed behind her he remained where
he was, too shaken by the cruelty of their words and
stunned by the force of his feelings to make himself
move. A turmoil of anger, jealousy and confusion was
swelling inside him, battling his desire to hurt her, and
filling him with despair. This was the woman he loved,
the woman he cared for and wanted more than any other
alive, so how could he have treated her that way? What
the hell was wrong with him that he couldn't show the
way he was feeling, couldn't let her close enough to
understand the fear and jealousy that had all but
controlled him since the day she'd told him about Tom?
He had to go after her and try to take back what he'd
said, but the problem was he had no idea what he could
say in its place.
Chapter 19

There were just three days to go before principal
photography was due to begin and Tom wasn't liking
the way things were looking one bit. Alan Day, his
colleague in Bogota, was calling regularly now, warning
him that Galeano's objections were becoming increasingly
ominous. And it wasn't only Alan Day he was
hearing from, it was several other reporters who were
based in Colombia, as well as some lowlife hoods who
claimed to be working here in LA for the Tolima Cartel.
They very probably were, but as he'd already pointed
out to one of them, planning his hasty, or even drawn
out despatch wasn't going to persuade anyone to stop
the movie now. If anything, it would give the producers
even more reason to make it. To his surprise the goon he
was on the line to right now was agreeing with what he
was saying, but as the man didn't give a damn,
personally, whether the movie got made, he insisted he
was concerning himself only with trying to save
Chambers's skin.
'And why would you want to do that?' Chambers
asked him.
'Because I'm that sort of a guy,' he was told. 'I don't
want to see you getting blown away, hombre. I mean, I
got nothing against you, so why would I? But I got my
orders and right now I'm supposed to persuade you that
it wouldn't be in your interests to go on with this film.'
'Well, thanks for the call.' Chambers said. 'Is there a
number I can get back to you on?'
The voice chuckled. 'Now do I look that dumb, Mr
Chambers?' he said.
'How would I know? I've never seen you,' Chambers
replied. 'And with any luck, I never will.'
'I hope you don't either,' came the response. 'But
certain people you're working with already have. I'm
trying to do them the same favour I'm trying to do you.
Seems they're not listening either.'
The line went dead. Chambers hung up and
immediately redialled. 'Alan,' he said, making a quick
connection to Bogota, 'it's Tom. Any news?'
'Yeah. I put it on your e-mail,' the journalist at the
other end answered.
'I didn't go on-line yet today,' Chambers said, feeling
an unsteady rhythm starting in his chest. 'Tell me.'
'Well, we already know Galeano's not happy,' Day
began. 'Members of the cartel have been in and out of the
jail like punks in a whorehouse these past couple of
days, and I got a message this morning on my e-mail that
goes "We have repeatedly alerted Senor Chambers to
the fact that certain businessmen in Bogota have
objections to the making of his movie. The names he is
intending to reveal are false, and it is our duty now to
inform him that unless production is cancelled by the
end of today action will be taken to ensure the cooperation
requested.'"
Chambers's mouth was drying up. 'That it?' he said.
'You want more?' came the reply.
'So what do you reckon he's planning?'
'At a guess,' Day responded, 'it would entail
measuring you up for a celestial suit.' He took a breath,
and by the sound of it a slurp of coffee. 'This is serious,
Tom,' he said. 'I don't think anyone gives a shit about
Molina, but the Zapata boys are Galeano's flesh and
blood - not to mention his insurance for life after Picota.
And, so rumour has it, they only did what Molina made
them do.'
'Oh, give me a break!' Chambers spat in disgust. 'You
saw those pictures, did it look to you like anyone was
being forced - apart from Rachel?'
'I'm just passing on what I heard,' Day told him. There
was a sharp noise at the other end, then Day said, 'Got
the bastard. Damned bugs.'
It was a timely reminder to Chambers that in Bogota
all foreign journalists' phones were bugged, and no-one
was ever entirely sure by whom. Could be the police,
could be the military, could even be the traficantes. What
was certain, though, was the roaring trade that went on
in phone-tapped information.
'You know I can't stop the movie,' Chambers said, as
much for the benefit of an eavesdropper as to state the
truth. 'It's out of my hands. I mean, even if I wanted to,
there's nothing I can do now.'
'The truth is, there was never anything you could do,'
Day commented, 'not once the money started coming in.
I know how Hollywood works. I bet you've got no more
power now than a used-up dildo.'
'Less,' Chambers corrected. 'But I told you that weeks
ago. Maybe these fuckheads just don't understand
English. What do you say we try it in Spanish?'
'I think we already did that, didn't we, the last time we
spoke?'
'Yeah, I think we did,' Chambers said. 'So I guess
what they're telling us, with all these threats, is that the
Zapata kids don't have much of a defence, once they've
got all that fame.'
If a grin were audible Chambers would have heard
one then. 'Can you get to a safe phone?' he said.
'Sure, no problem,' Day responded. 'I'll call you back
within the hour.'
Chambers hung up, paced the room, then went to fix
himself a drink. The fact that someone else on the unit
could have been approached, or was receiving calls from
Tolima agents, and he hadn't yet heard about it, was
concerning and confusing him. He'd always assumed
that it would be him the cartel would go after, because it
just didn't add up for people in LA to get threatened. All
that would do was take the vendetta straight to the Feds,
which definitely wasn't a place Galeano would want it
to be. Of course, it could be that the moron on the phone
was bluffing, but that wasn't a risk Chambers was
prepared to take. Trouble was, he wasn't too sure right
now where to go with it, for there truly was nothing he
could do to terminate the movie. A few months ago
maybe, but definitely not now, when million-dollar pay
or play contracts were signed, and Vic Warren and the
crew were already down there in Mexico ready to start
shooting.
Remembering the e-mail, he clicked on the modem
and waited to be connected. It took only seconds before
Day's message was in front of him. As he read it the
phone started to ring.
'Tom?' It was Alan Day.
'Yep. I'm just looking at your e-mail. What about them
going after someone else up here? Are you getting any
vibes on that?'
Day was quiet for a moment, and Chambers could
easily imagine the man's large, sharp-featured face and
shock of black hair, as he attempted to join Chambers's
new line of thinking. 'You mean like they did with
Rachel?' he said finally.
Chambers's blood ran cold. Not even he had gone as
far as to make that connection. But whether he liked it or
not Day had a point, and his mind went instantly to the
two women who currently featured most prominently
in his life: Sandy and Ellen. Of the two he considered
Ellen the likelier target, if indeed that was the route they
were going.
'It's very possible,' Day continued. 'Very possible
indeed. And much more effective than threatening you.
So why do you ask? Did you hear something?'
The cabron who's been calling me up was on the
phone just now.'
'You mean the one who's claiming he doesn't want to
kill you?'
'That's him. He says he's trying to do someone else the
same favour.'
'Oh, a regular Robin Hood.' Day responded. 'But it
doesn't sound too good. Have you got any idea who it
might be?'
'No-one's said anything, so I'd only be guessing.'
'And who's your guess?'
'Ellen. As the executive producer, co-writer and close
friend, she's an obvious choice.'
'You're forgetting her other qualification, she's also a
woman. They got you on that once already, this time
they're going to know you won't make the same mistake
twice.'
'Jesus Christ,' Chambers muttered. His face had
turned white and he could feel the same shaking in his
limbs that he'd felt a hundred times before when dealing
with the Colombian cartels.
'You're gonna have to talk to someone in charge,' Day
told him. 'Someone who's got the power to pull that
plug.'

Michael's face was so strained as he looked at Chambers
across his desk that there could be no doubt of the fury
he was trying to hold back. For the moment, however, he
was struggling to get his mind past the relief that Ellen
hadn't yet flown to Mexico. She was due to, in a couple
of days, but she sure as hell wouldn't be going now.
'I know I should have told you about all this before,'
Chambers was saying, 'but honest to God, it never
occurred to me they'd go after anyone but me. And
before we get ourselves in a panic here, let's remember
that I've got no evidence to say they're targeting Ellen.
It's just a possible. Did she mention any calls, or
anything unusual to you?'
Michael shook his head. This was crazy, insane.
Everything was in fragments, broken up by the random
chaos of all that he felt towards this man and what he
was telling him. It wasn't only Ellen, though that was
definitely the worst of it, it was also the chance of what
this could do to the movie, to the company, their
reputations, investments, futures .. .
'I'm waiting to hear from this guy in Bogota,'
Chambers went on. 'His name's Alan Day. He's a Brit. A
freelance reporter. At the moment Galeano's goons are
contacting him on the e-mail. There's a good chance
they'll start getting more explicit with their ultimatums
before anything actually happens, which should put us
in better shape to know what to do.'
Michael picked up the phone and buzzed through to
his assistant. 'Maggie, I want you to book my mother
and Robbie on the next available flight to London, then
get me Ross Sherman at the Police Department. Where's
Ellen, do you know?'
'Gone to see her Ob/Gyn,' Maggie answered. 'She
should be here any minute though.'
'Tell her I want to see her as soon as she gets in,'
Michael said and rang off.
'What are the chances of stopping the movie?'
Chambers said. He'd had to ask, even though he already
knew the answer.
'None whatsoever,' Michael said.
Chambers nodded. He waited, hoping Michael might
say more, but some kind of reaching out, joining
together on this was too much to expect. 'I guess saying
I'm sorry's not really going to do it, is it?' he said.
Michael got to his feet, and stuffing his hands in his
pockets went to stand at the window. Chambers looked
at him and wished to God there was something he could
do to help ease the man's burden. Instead he was just
piling on more trouble and danger, warning him of
threats that could smash his life to pieces, while his
marriage fell apart because his wife was carrying a child
that might, or might not, be his. Were he any other man
the load he was carrying now, coupled with the disaster
that was looming, would very probably break him, but
with Michael there was just no telling where his limits
lay.
The silence went on, then without really knowing
what prompted him, Chambers said, 'I think I should
tell you, I know about the baby.'
Though he stiffened it was a while before Michael
finally turned round. The look in his eyes was one
Chambers knew he would never forget.
'I don't know what she told you,' Chambers said, 'but
you should know that.. .'
'I don't want to discuss it,' Michael said, cutting him
off.
'Maybe not,' Chambers responded, 'but she's your
wife, man, and no matter what you're trying to tell
yourself, no matter how hard you want to be on her,
you've got to take her back now. If you don't...'
Michael's eyes were like granite. 'Just where the hell
do you get off telling me about my marriage?' he spat.
'If you don't,' Chambers persisted, 'there's every
chance you're going to find yourself in hell a whole lot
quicker than you're due. Take it from someone who
knows, someone who didn't do what he should have
and ended up costing the woman he loved her life. Is
that what you want? To spend the rest of your days with
the kind of guilt that eats up your insides like a cancer,
that tears you apart so's you can't even function the way
other men function, because you're not fit to call yourself
a man any more. I'm telling you, Michael, it cripples you
from within, it gets you so's you can't sleep at night,
can't think or breathe without remembering what you
could have done, and didn't. It crushes you, makes you
so's you might just as well stop living. Tell me, is that
what you want, because it sure as hell is where you're
heading.'
Even through the molten heat of his anger Michael
was wondering if in some way that wasn't how he was
already. He thought about the hostage set, and the way
he had almost heard Rachel's screams and felt her
torment. He'd thought then about the pain Chambers
had been through, and had known how he'd have felt if
it were Ellen. That hadn't changed, indeed, since the day
she had come to him, had opened herself up to him and
tried to make him see how much he was hurting them
both, he had discovered a new depth to his feelings, a
depth that had shown him just how incomplete he was
without her. To admit that to himself was hard enough,
to tell Ellen had been unthinkable, until he'd realized
that it was just this kind of holding back that was tearing
them apart. So he'd decided to tell her, he just needed to
find the words, and he had been so close to doing that
before Chambers had said just now that he knew she
was pregnant. She'd sworn she'd never told him, but
how else would he know?
'Can I use your computer?' Chambers asked, realizing
they had to get off this personal ground. 'We should
check the e-mail to see if there's been any more contact.'

Despite the regular calls between LA and Bogota, and
the hourly check on the Internet, over a week went by
before there was any more contact from Galeano's
people. In Mexico the cameras started to roll and in
Beverly Hills the daily rushes started turning up for the
executive producers to view. Taking a sudden interest
now that shooting was under way, and there was less
chance of his name being attached to a megalithic
nearly-was, Ted Forgon came to the screenings, but
though he grunted and clucked and snorted derision, he
had yet to get seriously abusive or difficult about
anything he'd seen.
After consulting the police, Michael had organized for
security to be tightened both in LA and Los Mochis, and
Ellen went nowhere now without a personal bodyguard.
She'd returned to the house a few days ago, just after
Robbie and Clodagh had flown back to London. She still
wasn't entirely convinced that the call she had received,
and barely even remembered, had been the threat
Chambers was looking for, but as Michael wasn't
prepared to take any chances she had gone along with
his wishes. Not that her moving back to the house had
really resolved anything between them, but it could
surely only help, them living under the same roof. They
were also sleeping in the same bed, but they never made
love, and there seemed no sense of permanence to the
arrangement, and nothing of any real consequence ever
got discussed.
Knowing so few British people, it was hard for Ellen
to understand the stubbornness and coldness that
Michael was using to mask his feelings. She saw no need
for it, and was so exasperated and frustrated that she'd
all but given up trying to get past it. It wasn't that she
didn't care any more, though he sure was making it hard
to, it was simply that her pregnancy was now taking its
toll on her energy and what little she had left she chose
to pour into the movie. Where they would go and what
might happen when it was all finally over wasn't
something she could think about now, for there were
still too many problems to be sorted, like Robbie and
who he was going to live with, and whether Michael
might even decide to go back to London with him. But
even if Michael stayed, there remained his belief that she
still wanted Tom, and she just didn't know what more
she could do to persuade him that wasn't true. Maybe, if
Sandy and Tom really did get involved ...
In reality, that wasn't beyond the realms of hope, for
both Sandy and Tom had flown to Mexico earlier in the
week and everyone knew how legendary film sets were
for kick-starting romances.

The script hadn't called for rain, nor, Tom assured the
director, had there been anything but clear blue skies the
day Rachel was taken. But after a quick discussion under
the drooping awning of a catering truck, it was decided
that the kidnap would take place in a torrential
downpour. Should the storm pass before the sequence
was finished it would be down to the digital effects guy
to sort it, and if it didn't match the exteriors of the
hostage house they would just have to fix that digitally
too. It was either that, or stand around this godforsaken
hillside with a hundred or more people getting soaked
to the skin, and not a frame of stock moving through the
gate.
They began by rehearsing the stunts - three cars
speeding along the steep, two-laned country road, and
coming to a dangerous stop at the edge of a ditch. There
was no-one but stuntmen in the cars right now, Matty
and the actors who were playing the kidnappers were
still warm and dry in their trailers.
The next couple of run-throughs entailed bringing on
extra traffic, half a dozen trucks of varying size and
cargo, Cartagena-plated saloon cars, a horse and trap
and a bus. Numerous assistants and co-ordinators ran
through the rain, shouting into radios and gesticulating
madly, while Sandy and Tom watched squeezed
together under a makeshift shelter that had been set up
for Vic Warren and the video-feed monitors. It was
easier to see the action from here, as the main camera
was currently attached to 'Rachel's car' which was
impossible to get close to, never mind into.
It wasn't until well into the afternoon that they were
finally ready for a take, and though the light had faded
quite grimly by then Vic Warren couldn't have been
happier. It added great atmosphere, gave the entire
scene a kind of sinisterness that bright sunlight just
couldn't conjure. The fact that Matty's costume had to be
changed, as thin white cotton pants and a short-sleeved
top didn't do it in this kind of weather, was a minor
consideration. However, it did mean another hour's
wait while something suitable was found, altered and
stressed down.
At last they were ready to roll, and as Matty and the
other actors were called from their trailers the vehicles
were set in their start positions, while the weapons
experts began loading the AK47s and M16s. Since the
weapon preparation was happening only a few feet
from where Tom and Sandy were standing, they not
only could see what the experts and stuntmen were
doing, they could hear it too - and listening to the
bragging and bluster Sandy felt a distinct distaste for
how macho it seemed to make the men feel just to hold
and handle those guns. She glanced up at Tom, whose
face was partially hidden by a waterproof hat, but the
glint in his eyes was enough to tell her that he was no
more impressed by the manly display than she was.
Perhaps even less so, since for him there was no
forgetting that it was very likely these exact makes of
guns that had been used in the original kidnap.
Sandy looked at the group again and noticed how
unnerved Matty seemed to be as she watched them, and
Sandy couldn't blame her, for they were the deadliest of
weapons, even if they were loaded up with dummy
rounds of ammunition. As one of the producers she
could step in now and bring some order to the idiocy,
especially as one of the stuntmen, who was doubling as
a kidnapper, had just dropped to one knee and was
making ludicrous chuff-chuffing sounds to simulate the
machine-gun going off. Others were diving for cover,
and making out as though they were blasting him back,
while Vic Warren, unaware of what was happening,
strode up the hillside with the DOP discussing at which
points he would cut, so they had some idea where other
shots would take over.
Sandy glanced around, hoping to find one of the set
producers, or a unit manager, for she was unsure of her
authority when no-one here really knew who she was.
She had just spotted someone when she almost leapt
from her skin at the sound of a deafening explosion.
Matty screamed, and the stuntmen and male actors
roared with laughter.
Sandy started forward, but Tom was already there,
snatching the weapon from the stuntman who'd created
the explosion. 'I don't know who you are,' he snarled,
'but as of now you don't ever touch one of these again on
this set. Do you hear me? It's not a joke, man. These
things kill.'
'And just who the fuck are you?' the stuntman
demanded, sizing up for a more physical showdown.
'He's the writer,' Sandy responded. 'And I'm one of
the producers and you're fired. Abbie!' she shouted to a
runner.
Abbie was there in an instant.
'Get Roger Gaites, the stunt co-ordinator over here,'
Sandy ordered. 'Then get someone from security to
escort this person off the set. Are you OK?' she said to
Matty.
Matty nodded, though she was pale and Sandy could
almost feel her heart thudding.
'Take her back to her trailer,' she said to one of the
dressers. 'Give her a brandy or something. I'll go and
speak to Vic'
'I'll take her back.' Tom said. 'Come and find us when
you're done.'
Realizing how unsettled he was too by the incident,
Sandy squeezed his hand, then ran off through the rain
to catch up with Vic. Now she'd fired the stuntman
they'd have to go through all the rehearsals again to
prepare someone else for the role. That meant there was
a good chance they'd get nothing in the can today, so Vic
wasn't going to be happy. She just hoped he wasn't
going to make her look foolish by overruling her on this.
But that was exactly what he did, though in as subtle
a way as possible, by getting the fired stuntman back on
the set to apologize to everyone concerned. It was
probably the most sensible and diplomatic response, as
the last thing they needed was any bad feeling festering
in the ranks. Fortunately it all took a lot less time than
Sandy had feared, and as the daylight had virtually gone
Vic's mood improved no end, for he'd now decided this
sequence always should have been shot at night - and a
rainy, windy night was even better than just night.
Once again Matty was brought from her trailer, and
finding Sandy nearby she went over to thank her for
stepping in, almost having to shout to make herself
heard above the rain. 'I probably overreacted, but I've
got to tell you, I really haven't been looking forward to
this scene.' she said. 'I guess it's because of what it's
leading up to.'
'You'll be fine,' Sandy assured her, using a hand to
wipe the rain from her face. 'Where's Tom?'
'Still in the trailer. You know, if you ask me this is a lot
tougher on him than anyone realizes.'
Sandy nodded, then turned as someone called out for
Matty to get in the car. She waited until Matty was in
position, then running up the steps of the trailer she
pulled open the door and disappeared inside.
The warmth enfolded her like an embrace, and
peeling off her waterproof cape and hat, she stomped
her boots, prised them off and took the towel Tom was
handing her.
'Come here,' he said, as she began to rub at her hair,
and pulling her to him he started to do it for her. 'You're
soaked right through,' he told her. 'Why don't you go
and take a shower, I'm sure Matty won't mind.'
Sandy looked up at him, then laughed at the face he
pulled. 'Do I look that bad?' she challenged.
He nodded, and turned her to the mirror.
She groaned with embarrassment, for her hair was
sticking out at angles, and her mascara, what little was
left of it, was smudged over her cheeks in unsightly
streaks. Her sweater and jeans were clinging to her like
an oversized skin, but though she longed to strip them
off, she wasn't sure about undressing in front of him.
She looked up, hoping he might give her some sign of
what he wanted her to do, but he was already turning
away and she could tell, from the way his head was
bowed and his fingers were pressing his temples, that
his thoughts were going in a very different direction
from hers.
'I think we should fly back to LA tomorrow,' she said.
He looked up, seeming surprised, then realizing what
she'd said, he nodded. 'You know,' he said, sinking
down into the plush, hand-embroidered cushions of one
of the sofas, 'I never thought it would get to me like this.
I mean, I knew it would have an effect, it was bound to,
but when I saw those guys messing about with those
guns . . . It's the way the Colombians do it. They play
with weapons like that, and who gives a shit if anyone
gets killed? And it's not just men. You see kids carrying
assault rifles or MGLs ...'
'MGLs?' Sandy repeated.
'Multiple grenade launchers. Grown men are teaching
kids of twelve or thirteen to use them. Girls too. They
dress themselves up in combat gear and attach
themselves to guerilla groups who coach them on how
to blow up military targets and tear apart rich men's
families by taking innocent folk hostage. More often
than not they get killed themselves, because they don't
know how to use the guns properly, or just because
they've outlived their usefulness. It'll be kids like that
who were paid to take Rachel. They wouldn't have
known who she was. They wouldn't even have cared.'
His eyes came up to Sandy's but she knew he was
barely seeing her.
'You know what I keep asking myself?' he said. 'I keep
asking myself what was going through her head when
they took her? Did she know what was happening? Did
she put up a struggle? Or try to bargain? Chances are
they used scopolamine. Do you know what that is?'
Sandy shook her head.
'It's a drug - locally they call it burundanga. Knocks a
person out in seconds. I don't know if they used it, or
even if I hope they did, because it sure as hell fucks up
the body after. It's the stuff they use on tourists, what
tourists that country ever sees now. They spike their
drinks, wait for them to drop, then clear out their cash.'
He was quiet for a moment, apparently still lost in his
thoughts. 'You know, the crazy thing is, some of the
kindest, most honest and generous people I've met in
my life, I've met in Colombia. Rachel always used to say
that too. She loved the people, the ordinary people
who're trying to hack a decent living somewhere inside
that hellish mess they call a country. She especially
loved the kids, the ones she met on the streets. The
teenage prostitutes who'd never known a normal life.
All they know is the abuse they've suffered at the hands
of their parents, or boyfriends, or pushers. They're kids
with no childhood. No memories you'd ever want to
visit. Yet the affection they give.' He laughed,
humourlessly. 'Little faces peeping into yours, trying to
make you laugh. Hands sneaking into yours, looking for
warmth, ready for any amount of kindness. Rachel
always used to take them candy - bubble gum or
lollipops - and condoms. Some of them used to claim
they got lucky on the condoms she gave them. I don't
know what they really meant by that, but it's what they
said. Maybe they got paid a few pesos more. Did I ever
tell you, she had an exhibition once, of photographs
she'd taken of kids who worked the Zone. The Zone is
an area of Bogota that could make Dante's Inferno seem
like a day at the beach. She took shots of them hooking,
sniffing glue, cutting a deal, grinning their little faces off
-they love to pose for a camera. Makes them feel special,
but they'll only do it for someone they trust. Rachel
knew them all by name, she cared about them and they
knew it. She had a kind of connection with them . . .
When the photographs were ready she gave them all
copies, and put their names under their pictures at the
exhibition. No-one really went to see it; but they were
great shots, some of her best work.'
Once again his eyes returned to Sandy's. Seconds
ticked by, as they sat in the scented warmth of the trailer,
and vaguely heard the rain and commotion outside.
'I got an e-mail this morning,' he said, 'telling me that
Galeano had seen that exhibition.'
Sandy looked confused. 'But isn't it over now?' she
said.
He nodded. 'Oh yes. It finished four years ago, long
before she died.'
'So what does it mean?' she said. 'Why would he tell
you that?'
'I don't know,' Chambers answered. 'Or maybe I
don't want to know.'
Not sure what to say, Sandy waited for him to go on.
'Just now,' he said, 'when I looked at the two actors,
the ones playing the Zapata boys, who were messing
about with those guns ... Before that I was thinking, for
everyone's sake, that maybe we should change the
script. We could just hold Molina accountable for what
happened to Rachel and be done with it. If we gave
Galeano that reassurance he might call off his threats.
But the Zapata boys were there. They raped her,
butchered her and for all I know they were the ones who
put the gun to her head and killed her. So tell me, am I
wrong to feel the way I do? Am I allowing my own need
for revenge to put other people's lives at risk?'
Reaching out for his hand, Sandy held it between her
own. 'We've done everything we can to make this set
secure,' she said gently. 'And no, you're not wrong to
feel the way you do. Anyone would, with any decency
and morals.'
'Is it moral to want to kill a man? Doesn't that make
me just as bad as those who killed her?'
'No. It makes you human. And you're doing the right
thing, Tom. You're using this movie to bring her killers
to justice, rather than do it yourself.'
'But what about Ellen?' he said. 'What if they harm
her? How am I ever going to live with myself then?'
Sandy's eyes went down as his words grazed her
heart. His concern wouldn't only be for Ellen, but for the
child that might be his. 'We don't know for sure if
they're targeting her,' she said softly. 'And Michael's
doing everything he can to protect her. You know that.'
'But he's still so mad at her.'
'Maybe. But that doesn't mean he wants anything to
happen to her.'
He sighed and brushed a hand through his hair. 'I
guess not,' he said.
As she took in his angst she felt the unstoppable heat
of envy stealing through her. Were it not for the baby
then he might be remembering that she too could be in
danger now, but she could see that that was a long way
from his mind. And who could say, maybe she wasn't in
danger, maybe she just didn't feature largely enough in
his life for anyone outside to have noticed she was there.
Not that she wanted the danger to fall on her, but if it
did, maybe it would wake him up to the fact that he felt
something more for her than he realized. But there were
other ways of doing that, and if nothing else, he must
surely crave the distraction that making love could offer.
'Tom,' she said softly.
He looked far into her eyes and she felt herself sinking
into the quiet charisma and power that was his. She
wished now that she had taken off her clothes when
she'd come in, that she could add her nakedness to the
intimacy they were sharing, and use the vulnerability of
it to show him how deeply she felt for his loneliness.
Were he able to look upon her now she was sure he
would understand how much he needed to be loved,
and what strength he could draw from her willingness
to give.
'I'm going to say something now,' she began, feeling
herself grow warm with unease, 'something, well, that's
not really easy for me to say. It might not be what you
want, but I want you to know that it doesn't have to be
anything special... It can just be between friends.' She
laughed shortly. 'I mean, for me it will be special, but not
so's I can't handle it, because I can ...'
She stopped as his fingers touched her lips, and taking
her eyes up to his she looked at him fearfully.
'I know what you're trying to say,' he told her gently,
'and I don't want you to think I don't appreciate it, or
that I don't find you attractive, because it's not the case.
You're a beautiful woman, Sandy, in more ways than
you know.'
'But...'
'No, hear me out,' he interrupted. 'I care for you too
much to use you the way you're suggesting, and no
matter that you say you can handle it, it's not something
I'm going to feel good about, when I know that it can't
go any further.'
'How do you know that, unless you give it a chance?'
she protested.
'I just know,' he responded.
She looked at him again and felt a rush of need engulf
her. She wanted so desperately to make him understand
that it was all right to love again, that it was the only
thing that would heal him, but she just didn't know
which words to use.
Then, as though he had read her mind, he said,
'Sandy, I know this is going to be hard for you to hear,
but I need to tell you for your own good, and for reasons
that are as true as the offer you are making.' Gently he
touched her face again and smoothed the rosy softness
of her cheeks. 'There can't ever be anything more than
this between us,' he said, 'and not because of Rachel, or
how I still feel about her, which is what I know you
think. It's because of you and me, and who we both are
and what our lives are about.' He stopped and looked
sorrowfully, almost painfully, into her eyes. 'I don't love
you, Sandy,' he said, 'and I'm not going to lie to you
either. It would be the easiest thing in the world for me
to take you to bed, to make love to you all night long and
want even more in the morning. But it's not what you
deserve. You deserve someone who can be with you and
love you the way every woman should be loved. And I
just don't have those feelings for you, Sandy. God
knows, I wish I did, but I don't.'
As the burning heat of devastation enfolded her heart
she hung her head and wished herself dead - or a mere
few minutes back in time, before any of this had been
said. She wanted to curl up in the shame of his rejection
and have it smother her and choke her until she could no
longer breathe the air that was a part of this pain. She'd
done everything she could to make him want her, but in
the end nothing had worked. She'd changed the way she
looked, the way she dressed, even the way she thought,
but still it wasn't enough. So just what was it going to
take to make him want her? For a fleeting moment one
of the recent lessons she had learned flashed her the
answer: let go, stop wanting, and everything will be
yours.
But that made no sense now, nor did it provide any
comfort. All it did was make her want to hang on even
tighter, so tight that she had to force herself to get up and
leave before she fell to her knees and begged.
Chapter 20

They were now a full two weeks into the schedule, with
a second unit operating on the streets of LA, picking up
general driving and panorama shots with Richard
Conway and three support cast, for the end of the movie.
Every day new problems were arising and Ellen was so
rushed off her feet, with viewings, meetings, interviews,
phone calls and endless rounds of troubleshooting, that
her bodyguard, Kris, was hard put to keep up with her.
On the whole he managed, though he had several times
to remind her that Michael had totally forbidden her to
go anywhere - including the bathroom - without him.
She did draw the line at that, however, but he was there
the whole time in her office as she kept in contact with
the main unit in Mexico, wanting a regular update on
everything that was happening, and enjoying the gossip
and slander as affairs began and egos bloomed. She
should have been down there herself but Michael
wouldn't budge on that, and in truth, as strained as
things still were between them, she wasn't really that
keen to be so far away from him.
Also, as her pregnancy was now entering its seventh
month, there was no longer any hiding it, nor was she
quite as mobile as she'd have liked. Kris had turned into
something of a godsend, as he dealt rather efficiently
with the small clutches of photographers and reporters
who were being paid handsome sums for shots of the
expectant producer. Speculation was once again
running rife over her marriage, but as she and Michael
were now living in the same house, rumours of rifts,
divorce, abortion, other partners and even, in one mind
boggling broadcast, hoax weddings, weren't gaining
much ground. In fact the entire circus of publicity was
proving more ludicrous than harmful, and she probably
wouldn't have minded it at all were it not for the fact
that it was prompting so many weirdos and whackos to
try calling her up. On the whole Maggie managed to stall
them, but somehow this one had got through, and as
Ellen listened to the voice at the other end she could at
last feel Tom's and Michael's fears for her safety starting
to fall on fertile ground.
The call had begun with her usual hurried hello as she
flipped through the 'documentary' proposal that had
just been faxed over from London. She wasn't really
paying much attention, so it was a moment or two before
she realized no-one had responded. 'Hello?' she said
again, jotting a note on the fax to get that particular point
clarified. 'Hello?'
'Hello,' came the reply. 'I know you are busy, so I will
come right to the point.'
Ellen frowned. The accented voice sounded just like
those that were coming in on the dailies. 'That's good,'
she said cheerfully, assuming she was speaking to one of
the Latino actors. 'I didn't get your name though.'
'I am someone who wishes only to be your friend,' the
voice told her calmly.
Immediately alarm bells started in her head, and
letting go of the fax she leaned forward to buzz through
for Kris who was outside talking to Maggie.
'I want you please to understand,' the man went on,
'that I have no grudge against you personally. But I have
my instructions, which I shall be obliged to carry out.'
Ellen's throat was turning dry. 'What instructions?'
she demanded, her finger still poised over the button,
though not yet pressing. 'What are you talking about?
Who are you?'
'I am to make you understand,' he replied, 'that the
movie you are shooting is causing grave concern to
certain people in my country. We have tried to explain
this to Senor Chambers, but unfortunately he is not
listening. So please, it is important that you stop this
movie right now, today.'
Ellen was silent. Dimly she could feel her head
starting to throb, and looking at her hand on the
intercom she wondered why she hadn't yet pressed it.
'Do you understand what I'm telling you?' the voice
said. 'Please, you need to understand how serious your
position is.'
'Yes, I hear you,' she answered, her eyes moving
about the office, as though somewhere, hidden amongst
the piles of scripts and shelves of tapes and books, she
might find the person behind the voice.
'You have the power to do what my people are
asking.' he said. 'Please tell me you will do it.'
'But I can't,' she said, almost in a whisper.
There was a moment's silence before he said, 'Please
be very clear about what I am saying. I wish you no
harm. You are a very beautiful woman and I know that
you have a baby soon to be born. Your husband will not
want either of you to be hurt. I do not want either of you
to be hurt. But the movie must be stopped. There are
those who do not wish for it to be made and I will be
forced to carry out my orders if you do not do as I tell
you.'
'What are your orders?' she heard herself ask, her
voice only just breaking through the tightness in her
throat.
'You know what happened to Rachel Carmedi,' he
answered.
Terror sank into her heart.
'Please,' he said, 'don't let the same thing happen to
you. Speak to your husband. Tell him the only way to
save you is to stop the movie and forget all about the
names Senor Chambers has told you.'
'But he can't do it,' she pleaded. 'It's not in his power.'
'Please,' the voice repeated, sounding so anxious it was
as though he really did care.
The line was suddenly cut. Ellen flinched, then
replacing the receiver she sat staring at it with wide,
disbelieving eyes. After a moment she tried to get to her
feet, but her legs were shaking too badly, her whole
body felt weak. The voice was going round and round in
her head, so soft, so mild and entreating; a voice it would
be easy to trust, had it not belonged to a man who had
been ordered to kill her.
Suddenly she snatched up the phone, needing to
speak to Michael, but even before she began dialling she
put it back down. She'd spoken the truth when she'd
said there was nothing he could do, for the ultimate
power wasn't his, it was Ted Forgon's - and the rest of
the World Wide shareholders'. There would have to be a
meeting, a vote, but with so many millions at stake, so
many investors to consider, she knew already what Ted
Forgon's answer would be.
'Out of the question!' he told her. 'Besides, they're
bluffing. And you've got yourself a bodyguard, so what
are you worrying about? Tell you what though, we'll get
in touch with the police, tell them about the call, and
from here on in you don't go anywhere without you got
yourself an escort. OK?' He passed her a club soda with
a wedge of lime. 'Just ain't any way I'm going to be
pushed around by a bunch of Spies, specially not in my
own town. So the next time this jerk calls, you put him
on to me, do you hear? I'll sort the sucker out.'
It was no more and no less than Ellen had expected.
But at least she'd passed the message on to the right
quarter, which was what she'd been instructed to do.
Surely they would understand now that there was
nothing else she could do, for it would serve no purpose
to tell Michael, when his hand would be as tied as hers,
and when he had so much else to think of that she didn't
want him to have to worry about her any more than he
already was.

It was late the following afternoon that Michael drove
up to the house and parked his car in the garage next to
Ellen's. As it was a Saturday both units had stopped
shooting at midday, which had calmed the phones for a
while and given him a chance to catch up with other,
slightly less pressing commitments. Ellen had left the
office around four, taking a stack of work home with her,
which she'd insisted she'd get down to after stealing a
quick hour with her feet up. She'd looked tired, and
pale, and he had been about to tell her they should
cancel the dinner they were supposed to attend that
evening, when the phone had interrupted. He guessed it
was probably too late to back out now, but if she didn't
look any better, he'd insist.
After dropping his keys in a fruit bowl he went to find her. It didn't take long, as she was standing in front of
the pool, her back to the house, staring down at the clear
blue water. Her hair was wet, and she wore a thick
towelling robe, telling him she had probably just taken a
swim.
He stood quietly watching her, wondering what she
was thinking and if now was the time for him to start
trying to prove what he finally understood she needed
to know, that he loved her, no matter what. But that was
easy to say now she had told him the baby was his were
there still any doubt would he really be standing
here now, thinking this way? He had to believe he
would, for the past few months had shown him how
unable he was to let her go, how incapable he was of
throwing it all away despite how much it hurt him to
stay. Perhaps the hardest to understand had been how
weakened he'd felt by the depth of his feelings, for
they'd made him realize how out of control he was of his
own life, and how dependent he was on her to make him
feel whole. It had never before occurred to him that
loving her so much would bring such problems, and
though he hated himself for allowing his ego such
power, he was still finding it hard to accept that he
wasn't going to turn himself into some kind of besotted
and gullible patsy by believing her just because he loved
her. He'd seen so many men go that route, blind,
pathetic fools that they were, and how humiliating and
defeating it had been for them when finally they'd
woken up to the truth.
But what was the truth? Was it really in the scenarios
he tormented himself with, of Chambers turning her
down, telling her he could never love her, that she
should go back to her husband and let him think the
child was his? With his air of tragedy and life fraught
with danger Chambers had to be attractive to any
woman, so how could he blame Ellen if she had fallen for
him too? After all, where was the appeal and romance of
his life and accomplishments as an agent and producer,
when compared to the war zones and human despair
that Chambers endured? But even if Ellen were still
harbouring a secret longing for Chambers, in his heart of
hearts he just couldn't make himself believe that she
would lie to him over something as crucial as the
identity of the baby's father.
But still there was that lingering doubt, upheld by his
ego, and he knew he must do something to destroy it,
and he must do it soon. After the birth would be too late,
for then science would decree the father and she would
know that he hadn't loved or trusted her enough to take
her word.
As though sensing him standing behind her she
turned, and seeing him she smiled. 'How long have you
been there?' she said.
'A few minutes,' he answered. 'Where's Kris? I didn't
see him outside.'
'He went into the study to use the phone.' she
answered, pulling the robe tighter around her.
'It's too cold to swim,' he said.
She turned and looked back at the pool.
'What were you thinking?' he said. 'Just now, before
you turned round.'
Her head went to one side as she continued to gaze
into the water. 'I don't know,' she said. 'About the
movie, I guess. And how precipitous it all feels. I mean,
it's like we're all waiting for something to happen,
something horrible and calamitous that's going to
change our lives. Yet the whole thing just keeps moving
along, cameras turning, actors whingeing, and nothing
unusual's happening at all.' She looked at him and
sighed. 'It just feels strange. Like waiting for a bomb to
go off when you're not even sure there is a bomb.'
She hugged herself more deeply into the robe, and
pulling her to him, he rubbed his hands over her back.
'You should take a bath to warm up,' he said.
She looked up at him, and making her laugh with the
drollery in his eyes he led her back inside the house.
A few minutes later he was helping her out of her
swimsuit and holding her hand as she stepped into the
hot, scented water. She didn't sit down right away, but
stood looking at him, uncertainly, even shyly, feeling the
cloying steam swirling around her body.
She was hardly daring to breathe, for so many times in
these past few weeks he had seemed to come so close,
only to back away at the final moment, leaving her hurt
and angry and despairing that he would ever get past
his mistrust. In her heart she knew this wasn't the way
he wanted it, but she knew too how difficult he was
finding it to overcome.
Feeling the baby suddenly kick, she looked down at
her tummy and was about to touch it when she saw that
he was on the point of it too. She stood very still,
watching, as he raised his hand and placed it gently over
the protruding core of her navel. Then he moved it,
gliding his fingers over the creamy softness of her skin.
It was the first time he'd touched her like this, and
feeling almost overcome by the joy and relief it was
giving her, she continued to watch, moving her eyes
between his hand and his face, leaving her own hands
hanging loosely at her sides, as though to permit him all
the exploring he needed. He glanced up at her, then
lifting his other hand he watched them both, following
their slow, tentative sweep over the growing mound of
the child.
There was no movement within, but still he felt
strangely diffident, a little overawed, and totally
intrigued. He looked at her swollen breasts with their
large, distended nipples and small maps of blue veins.
He touched them, kissed them gently, then touched
them again.
At last his eyes returned to hers and, smiling as she
saw his expression, she took his hand and brought it to
her lips. 'Bathe me,' she said.
As she sat down in the water he knelt on the floor
beside her, and began scooping handfuls of bubbles over
her neck and shoulders. Then taking the soap he used it
to massage her, making white, slippery patterns all over
her breasts and belly.
She looked up into his face and seeing the wonder in his eyes, she reached out to touch him.
'I'm sorry,' he whispered.
She smiled and ran her thumb over his lips.
It was a while before he could make himself go on,
until, laughing awkwardly at his reticence, he said, 'I'm
not finding this easy, you know, getting in touch with
my emotions. I mean,' he looked into her eyes, then
turned to kiss the palm she had resting on his cheek. 'I
always knew I loved you,' he said, 'but I never expected
it to be put to the test like this, never dreamt I would
come out so lacking - in courage and understanding.'
He dropped his eyes for a moment, then, looking at her
again, it was as though he could feel the strength of their
love starting to flow past the fear he had harboured. 'I
don't know if I can find the words to tell you how much
you mean to me,' he said softly, 'but it's a whole lot more
than I realized, more than I thought I could deal with for
a while.' His voice suddenly gave out, and he smiled
self-consciously at the way his emotions had tripped
him. 'I love you,' he finally managed. 'I'm inept, I'm a
fool and I don't deserve you at all, but I'm sure as hell
never going to let you go. Either of you.'
Reaching out her arms she pulled him to her and
kissed him with all the might of her love.
'Come in with us,' she said, when finally he raised his
head to look into her eyes.
Stripping off his clothes, he got in beside her and lying
down next to her he held her and stroked her and
laughed as the baby kicked the soap from her belly.
Then he was kissing her again, more deeply and
commandingly than before. Their needs and passions
were aroused, but as she started to ask him to take her to
bed, the phone beside them suddenly crashed into the
moment.
'Do we have to answer it?' he said.
'I don't know. Do we?'
It continued to ring.
'I guess we should,' she said.
Scowling, he reached out and brought the phone to his
ear. "This better be good,' he said into the receiver.
'Michael? It's Tom.'
Michael's eyes closed. Of all the people .. . 'What can
I do for you?' he said.
'I just checked my e-mail.' Chambers told him. 'We
need to talk.'
'Where are you?' Michael said, reaching for a towel.
'In the air, about twenty minutes from LAX. Can you
meet me?'
'If you think it's necessary.'
'If you're qualifying,' Chambers responded, 'I'd say
it's vital.'

For the past twenty minutes, after he'd clicked off the
phone to Michael and waited for the plane to land,
Chambers had sat quietly in his seat knowing that there
would be no more warnings now, no more procrastinating,
the first person had already been killed,
and he didn't even want to think how many more would
die before he got the movie to stop.
Frustration, anger and impotence welled up in him. It
mushroomed around him like a great shadowy monster.
All he'd wanted was to make amends, to try somehow to
show her, wherever she was, that he hadn't meant to let
her down. That, were he given the time over, he would
willingly sacrifice his own life in place of hers. But that
wasn't possible, so making this movie, immortalizing
her memory and bringing her killers to justice, was the
only way he could think of to let the whole world, and
her, know that he still loved her, still thought about her
every day and still longed for her in a way he knew he
would never long for any other woman.
He sat very still, showing nothing of the torment
going on inside him. Sandy was beside him, allowing
him the silence he needed. She had seen the e-mail too,
and being unused to Colombian ways, her shock had been even more profound than his. He wished he hadn't
shown her. There was no good reason to show anyone
the terrible image that had been transmitted from
Bogota. They'd contacted him direct this time, obviously
wanting no doubts about the message reaching him.
There had been a message from Alan Day too - it
seemed they had e-mailed him as a backup.
Chambers felt sick to his stomach, and afraid in a way
he hadn't been in a very long time. He knew the most
important thing now was not to panic, or do anything
rash that would end up causing more confusion and
damage. He had to think about this as rationally as he
was able, to sort out in his mind what he could do to stop
the barbaric slaughter Galeano and his people had
already set in motion.
By the time the plane landed and they were through
customs, Michael was outside in the car. Seeing the Land
Cruiser, Sandy pointed it out, then, stopping Tom as he
made to go towards it, she said, 'You two need to talk.
I'll take a taxi and see you back at the hotel.'
He nodded, kissed her hard on the forehead, and went
to get in the car.
As Michael pulled away Chambers folded down the
visor, attempting to see if they were being followed.
There was so much traffic it was impossible to tell.
'I need to know,' he said abruptly, 'if Ellen has
received any more calls.'
Michael glanced at him, then indicated to change
lanes. 'No,' he said, narrowly avoiding a car rental bus.
Chambers allowed himself a moment's relief.
'Why?' Michael demanded. 'What's going on?'
'Something I wasn't expecting,' Chambers responded.
'It wasn't what they've been preparing us for. I guess the
schmozo who's been calling me, the one who made out
he was contacting someone else on the unit too, was just
a decoy, someone to make us look the other way while
they worked out the next best way to get to me. I say next
best, because obviously going after Ellen would have
been the worst. But if she hasn't received any more calls
then we can probably assume the one she got, that she
wasn't even sure was a threat, was benign.' He glanced
over at Michael. 'We should keep on with the bodyguard
though, just to make sure, but my guess is they don't
want to bring the Feds down on their case, which is what
it would mean if anything happened to her.'
Michael swallowed hard. 'You think just the threat of
the Feds is enough to keep them away?' he said.
'I sure hope so,' Chambers replied. 'But what we're
facing now has already become a reality. Find a place to
pull over, you need to see this email.'
They sped out of the airport, hanging a left down on
to Sepulveda, and at the first hotel Michael pulled into
the parking lot.
Chambers's laptop was already open, the image he
had downloaded there on the screen. He passed it over
to Michael.
'Jesus Christ!' Michael murmured, when he saw the
mutilated body of a teenage boy. He felt his stomach rise
and the air lock in his lungs. During all his years in the
business he had seen a thousand pictures like this, but
none had ever been real. There was no doubt in his mind
that this one was. 'Who is it, do you know?' he said
quietly.
'His name's Casto,' Chambers answered, his face
totally devoid of colour, his words without tone. 'He's
one of the kids Rachel photographed for her exhibition.'
A stark bitterness crept into his voice. 'The exhibition
we're due to start shooting at the end of the week.' He
looked at the picture of the boy again, then looked away.
'His story's not unique,' he said. 'Sold by his mother, age
five, for the price of a hit, taken in by a bunch of druggies
who used him as a house-slave until he was ten. Then
they put him into prostitution. He ran away, lived on the
streets, continued his prostitution in order to survive.
Sniffed glue, smoked basuco, got regularly abused in
ways you don't even want to hear about. A street-smart,
mischievous kid, with a wicked humour and a spirit that
kept him alive when no doctor would even check him
over. Not a handsome boy, which was why he was so
badly abused - no pity for ugly gay boys in the macho
world of Bogota. Got his teeth smashed out by one of his
tricks who thought it would make for a better blow-job.'
His eyes returned to the downloaded image of Casto's
chubby, twisted little body lying in a doorway, neck so
deeply cut his head was almost severed. 'He told me
once he wanted to be a movie star and live in a big house
with gates and bars and security guards so that no-one
could ever get to him again,' Chambers murmured.
Michael was so appalled he could barely find any
words. 'So what's the message?' he asked.
'The message,' Chambers responded, 'is that for every
day the movie goes on one of these kids, the ones Rachel
took shots of, is going to die.'
Michael's face drained as he stared at Chambers in
disbelief. 'You can't be serious,' he said.
'No-one gives a fuck about any of these kids,'
Chambers responded. 'They're gamines, desechables gutter
waste, disposable.'
With a horrible morbidity Michael looked at Casto's
picture again and tried not to measure his own
livelihood and reputation against the lives of children
such as this. That was what it was now coming down to,
because in order to save these kids he was going to have
to jeopardize, and probably lose, everything he owned
in the world - his agency in London, his stake in World
Wide, his homes in London, Barbados and LA, not to
mention all the hard-won commitments from investors and
bring the movie to a standstill. Not only a standstill,
a total demise. And then he would have to look at the
debts, the lawsuits, the bankruptcy and probable prison
sentence that would inevitably follow. His brain began
speeding, so fast he felt nauseous.
'Fuck,' he muttered. 'Fuck, fuck, and fuck.' He looked
at Chambers.
Chambers looked back helplessly. He knew what this
meant to Michael, so was under no illusion how much
he was asking.
In the end Michael said, 'There's no choice, is there?'
'There's always a choice,' Chambers responded.
Michael sighed. 'You think I'd let them die?'
Chambers shook his head.
'Were it just me, I could try to do what you're asking.'
Michael said. 'But there're the other shareholders, and I
just can't see them going for this. Christ, I can hear
Forgon already.'
Chambers remained silent.
Michael turned to look out of the window, his eyes
unfocused on the passing rush of headlights. He thought
of Robbie and knew there was no way in the world he
could live with himself if he didn't do something to
rescue these kids, no matter what the cost to himself. But
still he felt sick, wishing to God he could think of
something, anything, that would avert this disaster.
He'd never dreamt that the day would come when
Forgon would be his saviour, but right now that was
exactly what he could turn out to be, for there was just
no way Michael could see him agreeing to pull out of the
movie. Too many stood to lose too much, including
Forgon who personally was in to the tune of two million.
And over twenty million more was already committed
in ways it was impossible to back out of without facing
bankruptcy and maybe prison.
His hand went to his head. The very idea of the bond
company coughing up was so delusional it was
laughable. The rest of the world had never cared about
these kids before, and now with so much money at stake
he could already hear the answers, that they were
probably better off dead anyway.
Taking out his cellphone he started to dial.
'Who are you calling?' Chambers asked.
'Forgon. If he's home we'll go over there now.'

Forgon's leathery face was incredulous. In fact, he was
so stunned by what Chambers and McCann had just
shown him - and then told him - that he couldn't find a
way to express his amazement. 'Let me get this straight,'
he said, when finally he recovered his speech. 'You want
me to turn tail on this movie because a bunch of badass
Spies are threatening to off a few kids no-one's ever
gonna miss, except the poor bastards they rob and
contaminate with their foul diseases?' He looked at
Michael. 'Did you get a brain bypass, boy? I mean, did
you fuck up your wits with some shit drug, or
something, because it's the only reason I can think of
that you'd actually come here and ask me this, like I was
going to give a fuck?'
Michael glanced at Chambers. He was about to speak
when Chambers beat him to it.
'I think you should know that I've got a lot of
powerful friends in the media,' he said, guessing
blackmail was the language Forgon understood best,
'and they're just going to lap up the story of how Mr
Bigshot Hollywood Producer let innocent kids die rather
than lose a few million.'
'A few million!' Forgon exploded. 'You call what
we've got invested here a few million? The last figures I
saw we were in for over twenty, and I sure as hell don't
call that a few. Now I suggest you go get yourselves a hit
on reality, before you start believing anything you say is
going to persuade me. We got some important people
here who've put up as much as five million bucks each,
do you seriously think they're going to give a fuck about
a few kids in a city half of 'em probably never even heard
of?'
'We need to take a vote on this,' Michael said. 'I've
already called Maggie to get her to set up a shareholders'
meeting.'
Forgon's eyes almost burst from his head. 'You're
getting Mark Bergin over here from Sydney for this?' he
spat. 'Did you lose your mind? The man's not going to
vote with you on this. No-one in his right mind's going
to vote with you on this.'
'Sandy will,' Chambers told him.
Forgon looked at him in astonishment. 'Is that so?' he
responded sceptically. 'Did you ask her?'
Chambers couldn't lie.
Forgon started to laugh. 'Listen to me,' he said. 'If you
think she's going to vote with you when she, personally,
is answerable to at least half the investors, then you
really are cruising with your lights out.'
Chambers looked at Michael.
'We'll let you know about the shareholders' meeting.'
Michael said, and nodding to Chambers he led the way
out of the room.

By six the following evening Chris Ruskin in New York
and Mark Bergin in Sydney had agreed to fly to LA to
attend a shareholders' meeting. Knowing what was on
the agenda, Bergin had already warned Michael that he
couldn't rely on him for support. Ruskin hadn't yet
committed, either to Michael or to Forgon. Nor had
Sandy, she'd wanted to speak to her investors first,
which Michael had understood, but Chambers hadn't.
'These are children, Sandy,' he raged.
'I understand that!' she cried. 'And I swear, if it were
my money I'd be prepared to do what you're asking. But
it's not mine, and I owe these people, Tom. It wasn't only
their money they gave me, it was their trust.'
'So you speak to them, and then what? You think
they're going to sanction you voting with Michael?'
'No,' she said truthfully. 'I don't. But try to see this
from my point of view. I have to consult them, not only
morally, but very possibly legally.'
'You're the shareholder in World Wide. They have no
say over how you vote there.'
'Of course they don't, but it's their investments that
hang on the way I vote. Tom, please. I'd give anything
for this to be just my decision, but we both have to face
the fact
'That you don't care about the kids that are getting
killed,' he shouted, and before she could say any more
he slammed out of the room.

The next morning Chambers downloaded the image of
another child murder in Bogota. This time the victim
was a sixteen-year-old girl, whose broken, bullet-ridden
body was slumped under a swing in a playground, a
used syringe and a cuddly toy only inches from her
outstretched hand. Her name was Priscilia. Chambers
remembered her well, for many was the time she had
tried to come onto him, using her then twelve-year-old
body with a sophistication and guile it was tragic to
behold in one so young. He guessed it was nothing short
of a miracle that she had managed to stay alive this long,
but that didn't change the fact that she didn't deserve to
die like this.
It had been several hours now since he'd last heard
from Alan Day, which could be either good or bad. Bad
if anything had happened to the man, good if he was
managing to get through to General Gomez - just about
the only man on the ground who could help them with
this. For the time being all Chambers could do was wait,
and pray that the rest of Rachel's wretched child subjects
were long gone from Bogota - or even the world. It
wasn't likely that many of them were surviving, most
didn't last more than a few years on the streets, but as
the hours ticked by and the cameras continued to roll he
could only thank God that Rachel had never known
what a terrible price her photographs were ultimately
costing the children.

Ellen looked at Sandy's calm blue eyes and felt stunned.
Not only stunned, but outraged and maddeningly confused.
Were she talking to anyone else she might be
thinking she hadn't heard quite right, but as it was
Sandy she knew she had, though precisely how she felt
about what she'd heard she just couldn't get a grip on.
'I'm sure you'd like some time to think this over,'
Sandy said, 'but as you know, we don't have that luxury,
so I'm going to have to ask you for an answer.'
Ellen blinked, looked away for a moment, then
returned her eyes to Sandy. They were sitting in Ellen's
office. Sandy was on one of the sofas, Ellen was squashed
into a leather armchair. 'I'm sorry,' she said, 'but I just
want to be clear about this. What you're saying is, that
you'll give me twelve per cent of your shares in World
Wide in return for me telling Michael this baby is his?'
'When it's born, yes.'
Ellen couldn't help but marvel at her nerve, and at
how coolly she delivered her outrageous proposal,
especially when it was only going to leave her with a
nine per cent holding. But what was appalling her the
most right now was how the hell Sandy knew there was
some doubt over who the baby's father was. 'What on
earth makes you think this baby could be anyone else's
but Michael's?' she demanded.
Sandy explained how she had overheard Ellen telling
Matty her fears that Tom was the father.
Ellen's shock hit another level, but at least it explained
how Forgon knew. 'Does Tom know?' she asked.
Sandy nodded.
Ellen let go her breath and looked around the room.
Sandy continued. 'With your twelve per cent added to
Michael's twenty-eight,' she said, 'there's a chance he'll
be able to pull the plug on the movie. Providing, of
course, Chris Ruskin votes with you.'
Ellen gazed at her in amazement. She was having a
hard time taking all this in. 'Why don't you just vote
with Michael?' she said.
Sandy merely looked at her, waiting for her to come
up with the answer herself. It didn't take long.
'Because,' Ellen said, 'you want to be able to tell the
European investors that you voted to keep the movie
going.'
Sandy nodded.
If nothing else, Ellen was impressed by her honesty.
'And what are you going to tell them,' she said, 'when
they ask why you signed twelve per cent of your shares
over to me the day before the vote was due to be taken?'
'I'll think of something.' Sandy answered. 'Maybe I'll
tell them you were blackmailing me and I had to pay
up.' It wasn't funny and already Sandy wished she
hadn't said it. 'The point is,' she went on, 'I can tell them
that Chris Ruskin had assured me he was going to back
Forgon, so with Mark Bergin's and my support too,
Forgon would win hands down with seventy-two per
cent of the vote. So me giving twelve per cent to the other
side wasn't going to affect the outcome one way or the
other.'
'Which it won't, if Chris does vote with Forgon,' Ellen
pointed out.
Sandy nodded and Ellen stared at her hard as she tried
to come up with the catch. She couldn't find one, except,
of course, the condition of the transfer. 'And all I have to
do for you to give me these shares is tell Michael the
baby is his?' she repeated.
Sandy nodded.
Ellen looked at her youthful yet determined face, and
suddenly felt the urge to laugh. 'And exactly how,' she
said, controlling it, 'is all this going to benefit you?'
A faint colour rose in Sandy's cheeks. 'I'm trying to
buy myself a little insurance for the future.' she
answered.
Ellen waited for her to expand, wanting to see just
how honest she would be.
'If the vote goes Michael's way and the movie is
cancelled,' Sandy went on, 'there's a very good chance
we're all going to be ruined, and if that happens ... Well,
you and Michael will at least have each other. What I'm
trying to hang on to is a modicum of my reputation to
help get me started again.'
'And there's also the chance,' Ellen added, 'that if Tom
knows for certain the baby isn't his, he'll commit to
you?'
Sandy said nothing.
Ellen was quiet as the full meaning of what she'd just
said started to sink in. All this time Tom had known she
might be carrying his child and had said nothing. But it
seemed he'd kept himself available in case he had
turned out to be the father, and, presumably, in case she
had needed him too. At least, according to the way she
was reading Sandy that appeared to be the case.
Keeping her eyes down she wondered about Sandy,
and if she really did stand a chance with Tom if he no
longer thought the child was his. She guessed she'd just
have to let Tom answer that, for she was going to have
no trouble telling Michael the baby was his, then the rest
was going to be ... Well, if nothing else, it was certainly
going to be interesting.
'There's just one thing you seem to be forgetting,' she
said, somehow knowing that Sandy hadn't, though how
she was going to get round it was certainly beating Ellen.
'Under the terms and conditions of the company, you
can't transfer any shares without first informing the
majority shareholder.'
Sandy allowed herself a smile. 'If you read the terms
and conditions,' she responded, 'which were originally
drawn up by Michael and his lawyers when the
company was getting started, you'll see that what it
actually says is that Michael McCann is the one who has
to be informed of any sale or transfer of shares, not the
majority shareholder. Of course, it was expected back
then that Michael would be the majority shareholder.'
She paused, then smiled again. A very convenient
oversight on the part of Ted Forgon, wouldn't you
agree?'
Ellen was looking at her in amazement, and not a little
respect. She really had done her homework. 'Does
Michael know that his name still figures that way?' she
asked.
'I imagine so.' Sandy answered. 'But if he doesn't, he's
about to find out. And if he agrees to the transfer, which
I'm sure he will, I've already spoken to a notary whose
office is in Century Plaza. He's expecting us sometime
between three thirty and five.'
Ellen's eyes widened. 'You were so sure I'd do it?' she
said.
'Let's just say I tried to stay optimistic'
'And how do you know you can trust me?'
Sandy laughed. 'Oh, that's easy,' she said, 'you're not
like me.'
Ellen looked at her, then she too started to laugh.

Despite the awfulness of what was happening to the
children in Colombia, and the fact that they were now
poised to lose just about everything they owned,
Michael couldn't help but laugh when Ellen told him
about the meeting she'd just had with Sandy.
'Did you know you were the one who had to be
informed about share transfers or sales?' Ellen asked.
He nodded and she eyed him meaningfully. 'And you
didn't even tell me,' she chided.
'Only because, when I found out, we weren't exactly
seeing eye to eye.'
'And we are now?' she teased.
He smiled, and pulling her into his arms he kissed her.
'You know,' he said, his tone turning sober, 'whichever
way we look at this we're going down. You realize that,
don't you?'
Though the fear of it churned in Ellen's heart, her eyes
were shining as she took his hand and placed it on the
baby. 'As long as we all go down together,' she said.
Michael smiled, and kissed her again.
'What time's the meeting tomorrow?' she asked.
'Three thirty.'
I
She started to grin.
'What?' Michael asked.
'I just can't wait to see the look on Ted Forgon's face
when we win,' she answered.
Michael laughed too, but this time not quite so
heartily. The vote hadn't been taken yet, and still no-one
knew which way Chris Ruskin would go.

Ellen and Sandy left the notary's office at five that
afternoon. After congratulating each other, and
recognizing a slight easing of their mutual antipathy,
Ellen returned to the office, making a slight detour to
drop Sandy off at the Four Seasons on the way. Sandy
knew Tom would be there, waiting for a call or email
from Alan Day, while dreading another from the Tolima
Cartel.
She hated how distant he had become with her,
refusing to understand her obligation to her investors.
She wanted to tell him now what she'd done to try to
help him, but how could she when there was a very
good chance she'd just sold his child to another man?
She still couldn't quite believe that Ellen had gone for it
so easily, but she guessed the mess Michael was in was
so great that Ellen was prepared to do anything to help
bail him out. Not that voting to cancel the movie was
exactly going to achieve that; but whilst calculating it all
out Sandy had considered it a pretty safe bet that Ellen
would support Michael in trying to save the kids. Of
course, like everyone else, Ellen might want to ignore
their plight, but Ellen just didn't have what it took to
detach herself that way. Sandy understood this, for not
even she, who'd never felt much pity for anyone before,
could reconcile herself to the idea of any child dying for
the sake of a film. On the other hand, nor was she
desperately attached to the thought of all those millions,
as well as her career, going down the pan.
Right now though, Tom wanted the kids to come first,
so she had done what she could to support him whilst,
at the same time, trying to secure at least something of
her standing. And the fact that she was getting some
payback on that bastard Forgon into the bargain was
making her decision a whole lot easier to live with. She
just couldn't wait to see his face the next day when he
found out what she'd done, especially if Chris Ruskin
voted with Michael. And considering how far back Chris
and Michael went, she felt reasonably confident that
Chris would.
Chapter 21

A third child was now dead. The latest victim was
another boy, Manuel, who was just fourteen years old,
had been put into prostitution by his stepfather at the
age of ten, and had worked the streets and sleazy porn
bars until he'd been found by an outreach worker and
taken into a rehabilitation centre at thirteen. The update
from Alan Day was that the boy had been making
impressive progress towards one day becoming a chef until
Galeano's men had got to him yesterday, on his
way back to the foundation from a mid-town restaurant,
where he had started three weeks ago as an apprentice.
Chambers wept with rage and frustration, and for the
young life that had been cruelly snuffed out at a time
when he really might have had a chance. And for what?
The sake of a movie that was supposed to bring justice
for a woman who had once taken the boy's picture. This
wasn't what she would want. God knew, she would
have endured what she did a hundred times over rather
than have these kids so brutally deprived of their lives.
It wasn't what he wanted either, which was why, after a
relentlessly sleepless night, he had decided that he
simply couldn't wait for the shareholders' meeting to
determine the fate of the movie.
It was just after nine in the morning when he picked
up the phone to call Michael. Getting past Maggie
wasn't easy, so in the end he left a message for Michael
to call back the instant he'd finished with Chris Ruskin.
He hoped to God that Michael could talk Ruskin round,
but even presuming for a moment that he did, and the
vote went their way, by the time the news was relayed to
Bogota there was a very real chance another child would
already be dead. And as if that weren't bad enough, they
then had to ask themselves - again presuming Michael
got control - how long it would actually take to stop the
movie rolling? There was simply no knowing, for after
their lengthy meeting last night with attorneys, business
managers, accountants and two of the senior producers,
no-one could be in any doubt that a thousand lawsuits to
keep the show going would come flying their way the
instant the news had broken.
But all that was for later. For now, there was a lot he
had to get done in order to set his plan for the next few
days in motion, so picking up the other line he started on
the long list of calls that had to be made.
More than two hours had passed before he was finally
through, by which time he'd spoken to everyone from
his personal lawyer in Washington, to the film unit in
Mexico, at least half a dozen contacts in Colombia, even
more in the States and in Europe, and finally to Michael
and Ellen. The call to Ellen was the last, and after
confirming that she could meet him at two in the privacy
of Vic Warren's Mulholland home, he put the phone
down and went through to the bathroom to turn on the
shower.

In the next room Sandy was sitting alone, thinking about
what she had done. She had Ellen's word that she would
never betray the condition of the share transfer, and
knowing that it wouldn't be in Ellen's interest ever to
reveal it anyway, she had no problem trusting her. Even
so, this was a strange and bewildering situation she was
in, for there was a time, not so very long ago, when she
wouldn't have thought twice about the tactics she had
used, believing that the end always justified the means.
But the way she had freed Tom from Ellen was troubling
her, and she couldn't deal with it.
She tried to remind herself that it wasn't always
possible to work things out in a way that made everyone
feel good, and as she was very probably the only one
who was ever going to feel bad over this, there wasn't
really a problem. But for some reason it didn't feel that
way, and she couldn't quite figure out why.
As the morning wore on she could feel herself starting
to become nervous and agitated, almost afraid. Perhaps
that wasn't so surprising when by four that afternoon
the world as she knew it could come to an end. She kept
trying to see beyond it, to envisage what might happen
in any shape or form, but it was as though her mind had
totally shut down on the future.
In the end, without thinking, or even planning what
she would say, she tried to call Tom, but he was no
longer in his room. She sat staring at the phone, then
before she knew why she had dialled again and was
asking to be put through to Ellen. But Ellen wasn't there
either.
'Do you know where she is?' she asked Maggie.
'Sure. She went up to Vic Warren's place,' Maggie
answered. 'She was due to meet Tom there at two, so
you should get her if you try in a few minutes.'
Sandy suddenly felt very strange inside. It was as
though a fog was dropping over her, filling her with
noise and tensing her with fear. 'Thanks,' she mumbled
to Maggie and put down the phone.
Her hands were trembling as she searched for Vic's
number. She couldn't push through to the end of a
thought. She felt panicked, then numbed, then horribly
afraid. She couldn't say what she was afraid of, all she
knew was that it was as though she were on the verge of
doing something over which she had no control. She had
lost connection with herself, had somehow cut loose
from the normal constraints of behaviour and was being
sucked into a compulsion she didn't understand.
She couldn't find Vic's number. Her eyes wouldn't
focus, nor would her mind. Questions came at her, but
no answers. Did she want to stop Ellen doing this? Did
she want to confess to Tom what she had done? She gave
a strangled sort of laugh. Was this what it was to
develop a conscience?
Getting up she went into the bathroom and splashed
cold water on her face. It sent a shock to her senses that
helped calm her. She took a breath, let it out slowly, then
took another.
It was several minutes before she realized what she
must do, and as it reached her the sense of Tightness that
came with it flooded into her heart like a golden light.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror and felt her
eyes fill with tears as a small, lonely smile curved her
mouth. Then going back into the room she called down
to the concierge and ordered a hotel car to take her to Vic
Warren's house.
It didn't take long to get there, fifteen, maybe twenty
minutes, though it felt like an eternity. Every light was
red, the world's slowest drivers were on the same route.
Just past Michael's and Ellen's house the road was up,
causing another wait that seemed to go on for ever. But
she was sure they'd still be there, certain she would
catch them and do what she must.
In the end she instructed her driver to ignore the red
light and go on. A few minutes later they rounded a
bend and the ornate, black-gated entrance to Vic
Warren's house came into view. Sandy braced herself,
and tried again to work out how she was going to do
this. She wondered what they would think when they
saw her, what she would do if she came upon them in a
romantic embrace. But that wasn't going to happen, for
when she looked up ahead she saw, with a sinking heart,
that Tom's rental car was driving away in the distance.
And her car was still too far back to be noticed when
Ellen's came sweeping out of the gates onto Mulholland
Drive and turned right along the highway, heading after
Tom.

Ellen was in the passenger seat, allowing Kris to drive
while she tried to collect her thoughts and redirect them
towards the shareholders' meeting, due to begin in
under an hour. But it was hard thinking about anything
else after the scene she'd just had with Tom, when he'd
told her his plans for the future and what provisions he
had made for the baby, should it turn out to be his.
Of course she'd told him straight away that it wasn't,
but that hadn't proved anywhere near as easy as it
should have, for it was only then that she'd realized he
might actually have hoped that it was. She suspected
that he hadn't realized it either, for the terrible
disappointment that had come into his eyes was
something she was sure he wouldn't have wanted her to
see, had he known there was a chance he might respond
that way. He'd covered it quickly with a typical, rueful
kind of humour, but it had been so awful seeing him
hurt like that that she had ended up making matters a
thousand times worse by trying to hug him. His
response had been as awkward as his embarrassment,
which of course had embarrassed her too, and now she
desperately wished she'd had the foresight, and the
heart, to have handled it all with much more sensitivity
and understanding. If she had, she might then have
taken more time to talk to him about his plans, and to tell
him how sorry she was he'd ever had to know there was
a doubt over who the father was.
But it was too late now, and with the shareholders'
meeting looming there probably wouldn't have been the
time to talk much anyhow.
Remembering she'd promised to call Michael to tell
him when she was on her way back, she was about to
struggle past the baby to reach for the phone when she
suddenly became aware of the way Kris was repeatedly
glancing in the rear-view mirror. Her heart jumped, then
her blood started to run cold as she noticed too how
tightly his hands were gripping the wheel. 'What is it?'
she said, glancing back over her shoulder. 'Is someone
tailing us?'
'I'm not sure,' he answered. His tanned, rugged face
was taut with concentration, his steely eyes flicked
between mirror and road.
Ellen pulled down her visor and angled it so that she
too could see behind. At first there was nothing, then a
long black Mercedes appeared from around the bend
and she felt a horrible heat spread through her body.
'This town is full of Mercedes,' she said, stating a truth
that was as much to comfort herself as to try taking the
edge off his tension.
'Sure.' he responded, noticing a smaller, saloon car
coming up behind the limo.
They continued along the narrow twisting road that
crested the Santa Monica mountains, catching glimpses
of the Westside to the left, of the San Fernando Valley to
the right. They raced past the flowery hedgerows and
million-dollar homes, speeding up, slowing down and
checking all the time on the car behind. By now Ellen's
heart was thudding a loud, rapid beat, as she wondered
what had happened to all the other traffic.
'Why don't we slow up and let him pass?' she
suggested.
'That wouldn't be wise,' he answered, expertly
righting the wheel after taking a bend too fast.
She looked back at the mirror, then stifled a scream as
they suddenly swerved to the other side of the road.
'What is it?' she cried, grabbing the dash. 'What
happened?'
'I think we lost a tyre,' he answered, struggling to
regain control.
Suddenly the rear window smashed. She screamed
and grabbed the wheel as they mounted the right bank
and bounced off a barrier. 'Kris!' she yelled. 'What are
you doing? For God's sake! Oh my God, no!' she cried,
as he slumped lifelessly against her, blood spilling from
the back of his head.
She fought frantically with the wheel, trying to keep
the car on the road as it rocked from side to side and
veered madly towards grassy banks and gates. Then the
Mercedes was alongside her, forcing her over, pressing
her closer and closer to the sheer drops that opened up
between properties and parkland.
Adrenalin was rushing through her. Kris's foot was
jammed on the gas. She looked at the Mercedes. Its
passenger window was lowered. She saw the gun, then
the face behind it. The world whizzed crazily by. She
screamed, and spun the wheel. Sparks flew from the car
as it scraped a wall. She turned the wheel again, then a
searing pain tore through her chest and her eyes bulged
in a split second of terror before the car slammed into a
boulder, flipped to its side and flew wildly across the
road, where it struck the bank, rolled onto its roof and
skidded towards the cliff edge. It stopped only inches
away, wheels still madly spinning, horn sounding as
glass tumbled from its frames onto the grass. The
Mercedes stopped, started to back up, then, spotting
another car approaching from behind, the driver hit the
gas and they disappeared fast.

It was dead on three thirty when Michael walked into
the conference room with Maggie. Mark Bergin, the
Australian partner, and Ted Forgon were already there,
seated at one end of the long table looking like
Hollywood's answer to hags at a hanging. Chris Ruskin
had gone to make a quick call to New York. As yet there
was no sign of Sandy, or Ellen.
Michael set down his files and spoke quietly to
Maggie, telling her to try Ellen's mobile again. He'd just
heard from Chambers, who was already back at the Four
Seasons, so he knew their meeting was over though he
hadn't asked how it had gone. Nor had he asked what
time they'd finished, or he might have been considerably
more concerned than he was. He guessed she'd got
caught up in traffic, and was annoyed that she hadn't
bothered to call, or to turn on her phone. Still, she'd
probably come rushing in any minute, hopefully with
Sandy hard on her heels.
As Maggie left she passed Chris Ruskin in the
doorway. He was a man of middling height, with a
round face, grey curly hair and a dapper way of
dressing. Normally his eyes glimmered with humour,
but today the burden he was bearing had dimmed their
light. Michael knew that after their meeting this
morning he had gone on to another with Forgon and
Bergin, and as this was the first time Michael had seen
him since, apart from passing him briefly just now,
Michael still had no idea which way he intended to vote.
Looking at him now, it didn't seem like he did either - or
maybe the way he was avoiding Michael's eyes was
telling Michael all he didn't want to know.
Michael glanced at his watch, then sat down halfway
along the table. Ruskin walked round the lower end of
the table and took a seat facing him. Forgon and Bergin
paused in their conversation, watched Ruskin sit down,
then went back to whatever they were scheming.
Michael ignored them, and opened a file. Tucked just
inside were all the documents he needed, which
included several copies of the company's terms and
conditions, and the notarized certificate showing that
Ellen now owned twelve per cent of World Wide. Of
necessity this bombshell needed to be first on the
agenda. He wondered how Forgon was going to take it,
and hoped to God, for several reasons, that when its full
implication was realized it didn't bring on another
coronary. But that wasn't likely, for the grim reality was
whichever way the vote went Forgon was going to come
out a winner, either because he'd managed to keep the
movie rolling, or because, if he failed in that, he was
going to get the satisfaction of seeing Michael's life in
ruins.
Looking up from his paperwork, Michael gazed past
Chris Ruskin and out the window to the upper storeys of
the opposite building. He couldn't deny there was a part
of him that wanted the vote to go Forgon's way, he
wouldn't be human if he didn't, for then he would be
absolved of responsibility for what was happening in
Colombia by knowing that he had done what he could to
stop it. And if he believed that he would believe Forgon
had morals, for he knew already that in the event that he
did lose, he would take the case to Vic Warren and the
actors and appeal to them to stop anyway.
Contractually, that would cause no end of problems,
and no doubt end up making everyone's lawyers even
richer than they already were, but it was either that or sit
back, put up his hands and say, 'Hey, I tried.' But that
kind of cop-out never had been an option, for as remote
from his life as those poor, wretched kids seemed, there
wasn't a single shred of his conscience that would allow
him to ignore them.
He glanced at his watch again and was getting to his
feet to go and see if Maggie had reached Ellen when he
happened to catch Chris Ruskin's eye. It seemed Ruskin
had been waiting, and Michael felt a jolt go through him
as, almost imperceptibly, Ruskin gave him a nod.
Michael's expression said nothing as he turned away
from the table and started out of the room.
'Hey, when are we going to get this show on the
road?' Forgon called after him. 'Where's Randy Sandy,
she's late.'
Inwardly Michael cringed at his coarseness. 'She'll be
here,' he answered.
Forgon chuckled. He was a hundred per cent certain
that take-care-of-herself-Sandy was going to vote his
way.
After learning that there was still no sign of Ellen - or
Sandy - Michael returned to the conference room and
announced that they would get started, as the opening
items on the agenda were ones Sandy was already
familiar with.
'Ellen will also be joining the meeting when she gets
here,' he told them.
Forgon immediately looked hostile, though he didn't
actually protest, as she was one of the exec, producers
after all.
Satisfied that Forgon wasn't going to speak, Michael
opened the file in front of him and passed around copies
of the document that showed Ellen to be a twelve per
cent shareholder.
'What the fuck's this?' Forgon demanded.
'What it says it is,' Michael responded.
'So you gave her twelve per cent,' Forgon sneered.
'Are we supposed to be impressed?'
'No,' Michael answered, and passed around more
photocopied documents. 'I gave her twenty-eight per
cent,' he said. 'Now you're supposed to be impressed.'
'You gave her all your stock!' Forgon was clearly
struggling to see where this was going.
Michael suppressed a smile. This was a move he had
taken that morning in order to avoid a complication that
even Sandy had managed to overlook - that according to
the terms and conditions of the company there could
never be an even number of shareholders. So now Ellen
held forty per cent of the company, ten per cent more
than Forgon.
Forgon's face was swelling. 'So where did this other
twelve come from?' he wanted to know.
'From Sandy,' Michael replied.
He could almost hear the commotion going on in
Forgon's head as he tried to figure out what it all meant.
If he had thirty per cent, Mark Bergin had ten and Sandy
now had nine . . . His eyes flew to Ruskin. His was still
the deciding vote. Then suddenly he remembered the
clause about having to inform the majority shareholder
before any share transaction took place. He couldn't
have looked more smug as he cited it.
This time Michael went with the smile, and was on the
point of handing over the relevant pages of the company
contract when the door opened behind him. Assuming it
was Ellen or Sandy, or both, and knowing that they
would want to be party to this moment, he paused.
'Michael,' Maggie said softly.
Surprised, Michael turned round. Maggie's face was
chalk white and she appeared to be shaking.
Michael suddenly felt very strange. Ellen was late. There had been no call.
'Sandy's on the phone,' Maggie said. 'I think you
should come and talk to her.' Sandy on the phone?
Confused, Michael got to his feet. He could hear his
heart pounding, and his limbs felt oddly light as he
followed Maggie back to his office. Why was Sandy
calling? Why wasn't she here? And why did Maggie
look so awful? As he walked into the office Maggie's
assistants looked up at him. They were deathly pale too.
'She's on your private line,' Maggie told him.
Michael went through and picked up the phone.
'Sandy?' he said. 'Where are you? Why aren't you here?'
Then by way of a joke, as though to prevent what his subconscious already knew was coming, he said, 'We're
just getting to the good bit.'
'Michael listen to me,' Sandy said, her voice choked with emotion. 'I'm at the hospital. It's Ellen.'
The fear hit him like a physical blow. His hand
squeezed the phone so hard it would have hurt had he been capable of feeling it. 'What about her?' he said, hardly hearing himself speak.
Sandy was hesitant, as though trying to collect enough
breath to continue. 'Something happened,' she said. 'Up
on Mulholland. Her car went off the road.'
Horrible images flashed through his head. He couldn't
get past the terror. 'Where is she now?' he managed.
They brought her here, to Cedars Sinai,' Sandy
answered, then she started to break down. 'She's in the
operating room . . . The doctor just told me ... I had to
get hold of you fast... He said ... he said, there may not
be much time.'

Abandoning his car, Michael ran in through the
Emergency Room doors and looked around.
Sandy was waiting. She ran towards him and took his
hands as he tried to go by.
'Where is she?' he said.
"They're still operating.'
The smallest flicker of relief. She was still alive. He
looked down at Sandy. There was mascara all over her
face. Her skin was almost transparent.
'One of the doctors is going to come and talk to you,'
she told him. 'We just need to let him know you're here.'
Michael waited where he was. Sandy went to the desk
to inform the nurse he'd arrived. The nurse glanced his
way, then after saying something to Sandy she
disappeared through a set of automatic doors with
opaque windows.
Sandy came back and they went to sit down. There
was no-one else around. Michael felt himself suddenly
swamped by despair, but moved quickly past it,
knowing that he had to brace himself now for whatever
the surgeon might tell him.
'There's something you should know,' Sandy said
quietly. 'Kris is dead. He was shot while he was driving
the car.'
Michael's eyes closed as his chest filled up with
horrible emotion.
'I saw most of it,' Sandy said.
She waited to see if he wanted to hear more, but it was
hard to get a sense of where his mind was. 'I was two cars
behind,' she began, ready to stop in a moment. 'It looked
as though Ellen tried to take the wheel. The car was going
all over the place. I couldn't see who was in the Mercedes
. . .' She stopped, swallowed and dabbed her eyes. 'The
road is so twisty. So many bends.' She could feel herself
being transported back to the scene, being gripped again
by that horrendous impotence and terror.
She glanced up at Michael. He was still staring ahead.
'I didn't see the car go over,' she said. 'When we came
round the corner it was already on its roof. Whoever was
in the Mercedes must have seen us . ..'
'Us?' Michael said.
'I was in a hotel taxi.' she explained. 'The driver got on
to the police as soon as he realized what was happening.
That was even before the crash, so everyone arrived
quite quickly after it happened.'
She wanted to say more, to tell him how horrible and
terrifying it had been. How she had rushed up to Ellen's
car and was dragged back at the last minute by her
driver. If she'd touched it, it could have gone over. So
she had to wait, sobbing and praying there on the grass
next to Ellen, who was all twisted up in her seatbelt,
head pressed against the roof of the car, face turned so that Sandy could see it. There was a thin line of blood
coming from her mouth, what seemed like an ocean
dripping from her chest. Sandy hadn't known whether
she was alive or dead.
And around the other side of the silent, deadly
tableau, Kris was half out the window, the lower part of
his body trapped and crushed by the wheel, his gun
back a way on the edge of the road.
But Sandy said no more, wanting to spare him her
own feelings, for they weren't relevant now.
'What were you doing there?' Michael finally said.
Sandy's eyes moved about the Emergency Room. 'I
don't know,' she said in a whisper. 'I knew they were
meeting, Ellen and Tom, and I just ... I don't know, I
can't explain it. I just had this need to go and talk to
them. But by the time I got there they were leaving. I saw
Ellen and Kris coming out of the gates, and then this
Mercedes pulled out of another drive further along and
started to follow them.' She took a breath. 'I didn't think
anything of it at first, you see so many limousines up
around that way
'Mr McCann?' It was the nurse.
Michael looked at her kindly, oriental face, and felt the
monstrous fear rise in him again.
'The doctor will be able to speak to you in a few
minutes,' she told him. 'Please come this way.'
'How is she?' Michael said, getting to his feet. 'Is she
going to come through?'
'The doctor will speak to you,' she told him, her
gentle, almost funereal tone driving terror to the very
roots of his heart.
'I'll wait here,' Sandy said.
Michael turned back. 'Get on the phone to Vic Warren
and ask him to break the news to Matty,' he said. 'Then
call my mother.'
'What about Ellen's parents?'
'I'll call them when we know . . .' He stopped, then
started again. 'After I've spoken to the doctor.'

There was no scale by which he could measure his levels
of fear or tension as he waited in a small side room for
the doctor to come. Beyond it all he was trying
desperately to connect with Ellen, but fear was a ghastly
monster to control. Inconsequential thoughts flitted
through his mind, like who might empty the wastebin
beside him, or if the Hockney on the wall was an
original. He looked at the other chairs and wondered
about the hundreds of people who had sat in this room
before him. For a long time he focused on a stain on the
carpet, the block in his mind seeming as stubborn and
unerasable.
Then he was thinking about the movie and the fact
that it would have to stop now whether Forgon liked it
or not - to begin with Matty would be on the next plane
to LA, and to end with, there was a very good chance the
police, or FBI, would halt it until investigations were
complete.
He thought of Tom and how he had been right about I
them targeting Ellen, though not even Tom could have
known that while he and Ellen were inside Vic Warren's
house talking, Galeano's people were waiting outside.
Later Michael would learn about the bogus roadworks
that had closed down a two-mile stretch of Mulholland
Drive and brought half of LA to a standstill. And about
the bugs that had been planted in their home and on
Ellen's phones at work. He even got to find out about the
call Ellen had received and never told him about.
But as he sat there now, in a small room on the seventh
floor of Cedars Sinai's north tower, less than fifty yards
from the frantic efforts to save her life, he didn't know
any of that. All he knew was the overpowering need to
remain strong for her, to be able once again to tell her
how much he loved her, and to ask her to forgive him for
his stupidity and pride. He wanted her to know that he
believed the baby was his, and that he wanted it with all
his heart. But it would be too late now, for what were the
chances of an unborn child surviving a crash like that?
He thought of the moments in the bath, when he had
touched her and the baby, and held them in his arms and
felt them merge as one. And then he thought of how her
body must look now, laid open to the rescuing hands of
surgeons, while their baby ...
Unable to stop himself he started to cry. The bitter
irony of it all wasn't lost on him either, for he had agreed
to her meeting Chambers in the privacy of Vic Warren's
home as a way of showing her his trust, when really
what he'd wanted was for her to be there when the
lawyers had witnessed the transfer of his shares.
Another gesture of trust.
But now wasn't the time to try reasoning with the
curiously cruel quirks of fate, so he forced himself to
think of Chambers again and how he was going to take
it when he was told what had happened. It wasn't
something Michael found easy to imagine, for his own
guilt was reaching limits he could barely endure. How
much worse it was going to be for Chambers, who had
already lost the woman he loved, and would now no
doubt hold himself responsible for what had happened
to Ellen, and the children in Colombia too. How bitterly
he was going to regret not putting his plan into action
sooner. Had he known, of course he would have, but
how could he have known?
The door opened and the surgeon came in.
Michael stood up.
'Mr McCann, I'm Dr Mills,' the surgeon said, holding
out his hand. He was wearing aqua-colour scrubs and
boots, his hair was covered by a cap and a mask hung
loosely around his neck. His green eyes were giving
nothing away.
Michael shook his hand. 'How is she?' His voice
barely made a whisper.
The doctor's eyes remained firmly on his, as though
trying to pass over some extra strength. 'I'm afraid not
good,' he answered.
Michael suddenly wanted to hit him, pound him,
throw him up against the wall and tell him to stop lying.
'The injuries she sustained from the crash are serious,'
the doctor continued, 'but mainly thanks to her seatbelt,
not life-threatening. It's the bullet she took in the chest
that's causing the problem.'
Michael's eyes rounded with terror. No-one had told
him she'd been shot.
'We've managed to remove it,' the surgeon was
saying, 'but I'm afraid the damage it inflicted ... It was
very close to the heart... Her left lung has collapsed...
We're working on stopping the bleeding . . . She's also
sustained injury to her pulmonary arteries and oesophagus,
and there is some serious contusion to the lung
tissue which is causing bleeding directly into the lung.'
Michael's face was grey. He didn't want to imagine all
the things he'd just heard, he didn't want them to be
about Ellen. This was all just a nightmare. 'What are her
chances?' he finally managed to ask.
The surgeon's eyes held firm. 'I'm sorry, Mr McCann,'
he said, 'but I'm afraid I have to advise you to prepare
yourself for the worst.'
'No!' Michael cried. The word had erupted from the
core of his fear. He looked at the surgeon with fierce and
desperate eyes. His skin seemed to be tightening over
his bones, his insides were cowering from the truth.
'You've got to save her,' he said hoarsely. 'You've got
to.'
'I promise you, we're doing our best.'
Michael nodded and bowed his head.
The surgeon waited a moment then said, 'The baby
was delivered by C-section just after they got here. Your
wife was already in labour.' He paused, waiting for
Michael to ask, but he didn't. 'It's a boy.' he said.
Michael looked at him stupidly.
Mills permitted himself a small smile as he nodded.
'He made it,' he said. 'He's not a big guy, but he's doing
just fine. He's in Neonatal ICU right now, but you
should be able to see him later in the day.'
Michael nodded and pulled a hand over his face. He
suddenly felt so exhausted he could barely continue to
stand. 'What about my wife?' he said. 'When can I see her?'
'I'll let you know as soon as . . .' He stopped as the door opened and a nurse came in.
'Cardiac arrest.'
The doctor was out the door and along the corridor
before Michael could make himself move. When finally
he did he looked up to see Sandy standing in the
corridor outside.
'The police are waiting to see me.' she said.
Michael nodded and swallowed the ocean of tears in
his throat. Then turning around he went back to the
chair.
Sandy came and sat next to him.
It was a long time before either of them spoke.
'The nurse told me about the baby,' she said. 'At least
that's some good news.'
He sat forward, resting his arms on his knees and
burying his face in his hands. 'It's mine,' he said, after a
while. 'I know you thought it might not be, but the dates,
they're ... It could only be mine.'
Sandy sat quietly staring into space. The nurse had
told her that already. Any earlier, she'd said, and the
baby wouldn't have stood so much of a chance - seven
months should be just fine though. Sandy had started to
protest, then stopped as she realized the woman
wouldn't have made such an error. And besides, it made
sense, for why else would a woman with Ellen's morals
have agreed to tell Michael the baby was his, unless it
was the truth? So Ellen had taken the shares knowing
that she wouldn't be lying to Michael. Which meant
Sandy had been tricked. Played for a fool. How they
must have laughed at her. But they weren't laughing
now, nor was she feeling any bitterness or surprise - in
fact right now nothing seemed to be reaching her at all.
'Your mother's coming over,' she told him, 'and
Matty's on her way back.'
He didn't want to hear that, it was only confirming
that the nightmare was real. 'I'd better call her parents,'
he said.
He got up and started towards the door. When he
reached it he stopped and turned back. 'Did you get
hold of Tom?' he asked.
Sandy shook her head. 'I don't know where he is.' she
answered, looking suddenly very lost. 'He's checked out
of the hotel.'
Michael put a hand to his head. 'I forgot.' he said.
'He's gone to Colombia.'
Sandy's face turned even whiter than it already was.
'But he can't,' she protested, 'they'll kill him.'
Michael looked at her and for a fleeting moment
wondered how they had got to this place in their lives.
Then, remembering that time was no longer on his side,
he went to find a phone to call Ellen's parents.
Chapter 22

The heart monitor over the operating table flatlined at
four forty-three in the afternoon.
By four forty-eight the five-man team had her back
again and the urgent struggle to save Ellen's life
continued. She'd now been undergoing surgery for the
best part of two hours, and it was doubtful her body
could sustain much more trauma. But her heart was
stabilizing and for the moment at least they had
managed to stop the bleeding.
Michael continued to wait. Rosa, one of the agents
from ATI and a close friend to Ellen, had come to join
him, bringing him coffee and doughnuts. The coffee he
took. It made him feel better, though his body remained
stiff, and the sense of unreality and exhaustion weighed
heavily.
He'd seen the baby, tiny, helpless creature that it was,
all tubed up and shut in a glass case to protect him from
the world. He had no hair, and his skin was red and
shiny, almost transparent. There was a problem with his
lungs, though the obstetrician had said that was normal
in prematures, and that there was very good reason to
stay optimistic. Michael had stood looking at him for a
long, long time, feeling emotions sway and catch in his
heart, as he prayed desperately to God that Ellen would
get to see him, and hold him, and be there as he grew
strong and became ready to take his bow in the world.
So far he hadn't given him a name, though he had one I
ready if he had to. He just didn't want to do it without I
Ellen.
But for now all he could do was wait. It would be a I
few hours yet before either Matty or Ellen's parents got I
there, and he guessed that some time soon, probably
when they'd finished with Sandy, the police would want
to talk to him too.

As the movie was only a couple of weeks into shooting,
and no vote had been taken to alter its course, Ted '
Forgon got on the phone to Vic Warren and told him he'
was recasting the part of Rachel. If Matty was going to be
away for a while, they couldn't afford the delay.
Warren could hardly believe what he was hearing.
Matty had only left the set a couple of hours ago, and as
far as he knew Ellen was still in the operating room. He
called Forgon every foul name he could think of, then
refused to do anything until he'd heard from Michael.
Forgon promptly fired him, then got straight on the
phone to another director and told him to get himself down to Los Mochis, pronto. And while he was at it he
called up a couple of screenwriters and told them to get
themselves down there too, because the way things were
going it was pretty certain a few changes would be
needed.
'Give it some more blood and guts,' he told one of
them. 'A couple of good chase scenes and some nice big
tits up there for the love stuff. Go easy on the laughs
though, this is supposed to be a serious piece. But forget
about naming names, maybe you should elbow
Colombia altogether. Turn it into a Russian spy piece if
you have to, and do what you can to lighten it up a bit,
or we're going to drive half the nation to Prozac.'
'Don't you think you should take a look at Tom
Chambers's contract before you go ahead with that?'
Chris Ruskin suggested. He'd just walked in on the end
of Forgon's call, and having no great love for Hollywood
ethics, he had even less for Forgon.
'Fuck Chambers's contract!' Forgon responded. He
was clearly really charged up by the idea of taking over.
Ruskin's face was impassive, though the contempt
was only a layer away. 'I think you'll find he's got
exclusive rights on the . . .'
'He gave up his rights the day he went into movies,'
Forgon snarled. 'Now unless you're going to be some
use around here, I suggest you get your fairy ass back to
New York where it belongs.'

Sandy was the first to find out about Forgon's
assumption of control. Having spent the past hour with
the police she returned to the hotel to find a message
from Vic Warren demanding someone get on Ted
Forgon's case now or he, Warren, really would walk.
There was another message from Chris Ruskin telling
her to call him immediately she got back. There were still
others from the set producers asking what they should
do, and from at least half a dozen publicists saying they
must have some kind of statement to give to the press. In
fact it seemed as though the whole world was trying to
get hold of her now that the news of Ellen's accident was
out - and that was how everyone appeared to be
referring to it, as an accident, for she could find no
mention anywhere, either in her messages or on the few
channels she quickly flicked through, of a shooting.
Exhausted though she was, she could feel a new
energy starting to kick in. Obviously there was no way
she could trouble Michael with any of it, nor was there
any way she was going to stand by and let Forgon hijack
this movie as though it were some vacuous thriller for
the testosterone titans.
Picking up the phone she called Chris Ruskin first and
asked him to come over to the Four Seasons right away.
While she was waiting she tried calling Alan Day in
Colombia, but couldn't get a reply. By now Tom's flight
would be halfway to Miami, where he would then make
the connection to Bogota. Quickly she got back on the
phone and spoke to Maggie, Michael's assistant, telling
her to put a message out at Miami airport for Tom to cal
the minute he landed. If nothing else, she should tell him
about Ellen, and with any luck that alone would
persuade him to turn around and come back. Forgon's
attempts at sabotage would hopefully clinch it.
Chris Ruskin arrived, and over a fortifying few shots
of brandy she told him what she intended to do if, for
any reason, Tom didn't get the message and call back.
She was still too beset by shock and the aftermath of all
that had happened to calculate properly the size of the
risk she would be taking, which was why she had
wanted to run it by Ruskin to see how he responded. To
her relief he was in total agreement, and even declared
himself to be more than ready to share the responsibility
should her plans backfire. From that Sandy realized he
wasn't entirely in tune with how dangerous her plans
could prove, but as they were really only a danger to her,
she saw no reason to elaborate.
By five o'clock it was clear Tom wasn't going to ring.
She tried not to take it personally, telling herself that he
probably didn't get the message, rather than confronting
the possibility that he still didn't want to speak to her.
She got back on the phone to Maggie to see if maybe he'd
called there, but he hadn't, nor was there any word from
Michael. Sandy took that to be good news, for if Ellen
hadn't made it she was sure they'd all know with a
horrible speed.
Within an hour the movie's senior publicist had
performed nothing less than a miracle, and Sandy was at
CNN's Los Angeles studios preparing to do a live linkup
with their studios in New York. She was to be the first
guest of the evening on Larry King Live. The news of
Ellen's accident was, for the moment at least, LA's top
story. It would probably remain that way for one,
possibly two hours, after that it would be lucky if it even
got a mention again, which was why Sandy had to strike
now, at a time when the incident already had attention.
She'd told Larry King's researchers about the shooting,
which was how she'd managed to get the top slot. They
were thrilled - not only was this a great scoop for the
show, but it was really going to get the American people
going to discover that some Colombian drug lord was
able to reach out from a prison cell and affect the lives of
American citizens who were going about their business
on American soil. Added to that, of course, was the fact
that the woman who'd been shot was one of the
executive producers on a movie about Rachel Carmedi,
the American journalist who, most would remember,
had been murdered in Colombia.
Somewhere, in the panicked rush of her mind, Sandy
knew that if Tom were aware of what she was planning
he would do everything he could to stop her. But he
didn't know, and even if she was putting herself in
danger something had to be done to stop Ted Forgon and,
maybe, to stop Tom Chambers too.
Fifteen minutes and a couple of commercial breaks
later, her interview was over, and now the entire nation,
and half the world, knew that Hernan Galeano's nephews,
Gustavo and Julio Zapata, along with a
Colombian lowlife by the name of Salvador Molina, had
carried out the kidnap and murder of Rachel Carmedi.
They also knew that Galeano had been hiring people to
threaten those involved in the making of the movie; that
Ellen Shelby McCann's accident had been a shooting
carried out by Galeano's hit men; and about Galeano's
instruction to murder a child a day as a means of getting
the movie stopped, and of keeping his nephews, who
were now instrumental in running the Tolima Cartel,
out of jail. Sandy went on to describe the unspeakable
arrogance of a man like Galeano who truly believed he
could get away with all this; and ended by revealing
Tom Chambers's suicide mission to Colombia now, in a
bid to save any more children from dying.
As she walked off the set Chris Ruskin and the
publicist were waiting for her, took her shaking hands
and congratulated her. She felt horribly faint, and in
desperate need of some air. They took her outside, then
Ruskin gave her his cellphone so she could call Rosa at
the hospital to see if there was any news.
There was. Ellen was out of surgery and in Intensive
Care. The next twenty-four hours were crucial, but if she
managed to pull through them there was a chance
she might make it. Michael was with her now, though
she was still unconscious and expected to remain that
way for a while yet.
Sandy returned to the hotel, leaving Chris Ruskin to
go on to the production office with the publicist to sort
out how they were going to handle the wave of publicity
that was no doubt already heading their way. She
needed to be alone now in order to carry out the rest of
her plan, the part she hadn't mentioned to Chris.
Once inside her room she sat down at her laptop and
began composing an e-mail which she then circulated
to Michael, Tom, Alan Day, Chris Ruskin, Zelda Frey in
London and her flatmate Nesta. 'After the interview I
just did on Larry King Live,' it read, 'I know my life is
now in danger. So I have gone away for a while, to a
place where no-one will think to look for me. Please
don't worry about me. I'll keep watching the news and
when it is safe to come back, I will.' And to Tom she
added, 'I don't know if what I did has made things
more dangerous for you, but I am praying that it will
force the Colombian and American authorities to stop
the child killings, and to stop you carrying out your
revenge.'
When she was finished she packed up her computer
and put it, with several other of her possessions, in hotel
storage and took a taxi to the airport. By nine o'clock that
nigh she was no longer on American soil.

Ellen got through the next twenty-four hours, and the
twenty-four after that. She remained in Intensive Care,
connected up to so many machines it wasn't easy to get
close to her. She was still unconscious and there were
still no guarantees, but there was hope, and that was
something Michael was clinging to, as hard as she was
clinging to life.
He sat with her for hour after hour, holding her hand
and gazing past the tape and tubes to her pale, scratched
face with all its bruises and stitches. Her chest rose and
fell in time with the pulsing pressure of the ventilator,
and on the floor at his feet a small suction device, that
was connected to a place somewhere behind her ribs,
bubbled air through water. There was a tube in her nose
to suck air and acid from her stomach; IVs were attached
to her arms, and patches and snaps on her chest were
wired up to yet more monitors.
He talked to her softly, insistently and lovingly.
Sometimes he joked, sometimes he urged, occasionally
he cried. He told her how sorry he was for all the
heartache he had caused her; how desperately he
wished he'd been man enough to stand by her when
she'd first told him the baby might not be his. He
rambled at length about his useless pride and the idiocy
that had made him consider it a weakness to trust, or
believe her, when she finally told him the baby was his.
But because he knew that their son would matter to her
the most, he spent long hours making up crazy and
outlandish things the little rascal was thinking, all
snugged up there in his private little playpen. The
nurses had christened him Seven Leaguer because he
was improving so fast, though Michael still hadn't been
allowed to hold him yet, that would happen, the doctor
said, as soon as he came off the ventilator. He recited
long lists of names, asking Ellen to squeeze if he said one I
she liked, but so far there had been no response. He I
berated himself for being so inept that he couldn't even I
come up with a name she approved of, and told her he I
hoped they weren't going to fall out over this, because
there were quite a few on that list that were OK by him. I
On the third day the doctor pronounced her strong!
enough to try breathing alone. As she was still
unconscious they had to leave the plastic tubing that ran I
down to her lungs in place. But she could still breathe!
with it there, the doctor insisted, they would simply turn off the machine.
When the time came the tiny room, with so many I
devices and strange, greenish light from the monitors,
was full of doctors, and the tension was so great it was
as though something might explode any second. They I
allowed Michael to stay, and he watched in frozen terror
as the respiratory therapist did a final check before
turning to the ventilator and putting a hand on the
switch. He looked back at Ellen, then quietly shut down
the machine. Everyone waited, watching her chest,
willing her to breathe. The silence, now that the
pneumatic pressure had gone, was horrible. Above her
the heart monitor continued to bleep, but the waves
were becoming erratic. Michael started to panic and was
about to turn the machine back on, when the therapist
put a hand on his arm and nodded for him to look. It was
weak, very weak, but there was an unsteady rise and fall
in her chest. She was doing it alone.
He felt ridiculous as tears poured down his cheeks
and everyone, unable to touch Ellen, shook his hand and
congratulated him instead. They were all so proud of her
it made him want to break out the champagne. When
they'd all gone he sat down with her again and leaning
on the padded bed rail told her how much he loved her,
how well she was doing and how happy she was going
to make her parents, who were coming in later. Then, in
a state of uncontainable euphoria, he expanded even
further and told her how thrilled all the people who'd
heard about her on Larry King were going to be when
they heard how well she had done. He knew she didn't
know about them, but they were the ones who were
sending all the flowers that were filling up their home, as
flowers weren't allowed in the ICU. Then he related the
story of Sandy's interview, and how she had now
disappeared before Galeano's men could get to her too.
Obviously she didn't want to be yet another burden on
Tom's conscience, though Michael didn't say that to
Ellen.
Nor did he tell her that down in Mexico the movie was
still under way, with a new director, new star and new
writers. She didn't need to be troubled by the way
Forgon was welcoming all the publicity with open arms,
rubbing his hands in glee and telling anyone who cared
to listen that this kind of exposure couldn't be bought at
any price. The fact that he personally was the target of a
national hate campaign, and had become the subject of
every lampoonist from Leno to Letterman, bothered him
not a bit. It was all about money and fuck everything
else, including the bombardment of lawsuits that were
coming his way. He didn't even give a damn about the
Feds and their inquiries; not that he was being
unhelpful, but so far he'd managed to get a judge to rule
that the movie could keep going until the Federal
Government could give good enough reason for it not
to.
Needless to say a public and media outcry followed
that ruling, everyone demanding to know how many
children had to die or women be shot to provide good
reason. And meanwhile Forgon just carried on lapping
up all the publicity, and relishing the sour-grapes gossip
of his industry peers who were either accusing him of
staging the entire show, or hissing with envy at his great
good fortune.
But Michael was going to put a stop to it all tomorrow.
His lawyers had now gained him the necessary legal
status to vote on Ellen's shares, so her forty per cent,
together with Chris Ruskin's eleven per cent, gave them
the necessary amount to stop Forgon dead in his tracks.
Michael just hoped it was going to be enough to stop
Chambers's enemies too, for they had to be closing in on
him by now, if they hadn't got to him already. There had
been no word from him since he'd left, so Michael didn't
even know if he was aware of Sandy's interview, or if it
had had the desired effect of thwarting his suicidal
mission. So far there had been a lot of hot air blowing out
of Washington, though whether anyone was doing
anything, either there or in Colombia, was impossible to
tell. If the authorities had managed to cut in on him there
was every chance that kind of news would have been
made public by now. So it was Michael's guess that
Chambers had either been able to give them the slip and
was somewhere in hiding right now, or, God forbid, his
enemies, having been tipped off by the interview, had
been waiting for him when he got into Bogota and had
him exactly where they wanted him.
Chapter 23

The village was two hundred kilometres from Bogota,
down in a valley, remote from the world. From a small
dusty window Chambers watched the square. It was
dense with plane trees and magnolias that shaded the
hot, cracked pavements and drooped low over the
crumbling buildings around. Local traders were starting
to open up for the day. The man who sold lotto tickets
was taking coffee with a couple of ice-cream vendors in
a dim, vinyl-clad cafe close to the church, their empty
carts parked against the kerb outside. A vagrant lay
asleep on a bench. Rowdy birds fluttered and flocked to
the gutter where a beefy-looking woman was dumping
the remains of stale arepas de queso.
The church clock tolled the first of the seven chimes it
was due. Already the sun was seeking a thousand
different trails through the wide canopy of trees. A dog
scooted from the path of a fast-trotting horse that was
carrying a slit-eyed campesino dressed in a handstitched ruana and fine calf-leather hat. He was quickly lost from
view, disappearing along a side street from which the
roar of two ancient, rusting Jeeps could be heard,
crunching gears and revving up engines to get past any
debris or stray humanity that obstructed their way.
The open-sided Jeeps came into view. The drivers
were both wearing camouflage, M16s propped on the
seats beside them. They drove at high speed, bouncing
over potholes and squealing round corners until they
disappeared through the arch under Chambers's window.
They'd be parking up now in the courtyard behind
the hospedaje - the small, cheap hotel where Chambers
had been almost since arriving in Colombia.
He knew now that he had Sandy - and Larry King - to
thank for his detention, which was what General Gomez
was calling it. Kidnap would be the word Chambers
would've used, had he been asked, but Gomez wasn't
interested in asking. Nor were the men who were
guarding him - or holding him hostage, as he preferred
to call it. He guessed he'd have to concede the point on
guarding, however, since no-one was demanding any
payment for his return. In fact, it wasn't certain they
were going to return him at all, though he couldn't
imagine what else Gomez was planning to do with him.
It was boredom that was making him fractious, for to
be fair he knew he wasn't really a prisoner, as he'd been
provided with a gun and was free to come and go as he
wished - though not without escort. He was here for his
own protection, as Sandy's interview had informed
Gomez - possibly the only incorruptible police officer in
Bogota - that he was on his way, and why. The general
had accordingly arranged for a welcome at the airport,
sending a dozen of his handpicked men to board the
plane and escort Chambers, much to the fascination of
the other travellers, to a fleet of waiting cars, whereupon he was whisked off into the night. Had the general not
done that, then Galeano's people would most certainly
have afforded themselves the privilege of meeting
Chambers, in which case there wasn't much chance he'd
be sitting at this window today. And apart from the
occasional stroll over to the cafe for a few games of tejo, or the couple of hikes through the hills he'd made in an
effort to keep himself fit, about all he had done the past
few days was sit at this window - and wait.
Gomez's men were not great conversationalists, nor
did they show much interest in what was going on in the
world. This meant that Chambers still didn't know if the
movie had been stopped, or if Ellen was managing to
hold on. He'd have given a sizeable sum to be able to
contact Michael, though even if he could, what the hell
he'd have said he had no idea. Even with so many hours
to think, Chambers was still unable to find adequate
words to express how he felt about all that had happened,
or how sorry he was that he had ever come into
their lives only to bring them such pain. It was too late
now to change it, though God knew he would if he could,
but he could at least try to put an end to Galeano's
monstrous control over their lives, which he knew
amounted to little more than a game to the old man,
something to keep him amused, and his enemies in tune
with his power, during his ever-decreasing stretch in jail.
Deciding to go get himself a coffee, he tucked an old
navy cotton shirt into his jeans, belted the Beretta
automatic, and left the room. Carrying a lethal weapon
in this village wasn't only normal, it was also an
extremely wise thing to do, since the military base just
down the road made an attractive target for every
insurgent and bandido for miles around. There was also a
pretty good chance that the price of his whereabouts was
an especially high one, so Galeano's people could come
riding in at any time.
Taking the back staircase he found his escorts in the
quaint little courtyard, idling around the Jeeps and
smoking barillos, the two newcomers about to check in
before the other two checked out. Chambers didn't have
a problem with the marijuana, but he didn't imagine
Gomez would be too impressed were he to happen
along.
'Ah, Senor Tom,' one of them greeted him. It was
Valerio, at twenty-eight the oldest and also most senior
ranking among them. He had just arrived, so would be
one of Chambers's companions for the day. Of them all,
Valerio was the most talkative, and probably the best
informed in matters not pertaining to their immediate
surroundings. It had long since occurred to Chambers,
however, that Valerio and his fellow officers had been
carefully instructed in their ignorance of the outside
world.
'I have a message for you,' Valerio declared, dropping
the end of his cigarette on the ground and grinding it
with a standard issue field-green Vietnam boot. "The
general sends his apologies that he has not come to see
you sooner, but there have been important matters for
him to attend to. However, he will be here in maybe an
hour. He says you should be ready to leave.'
This unexpected piece of news surprised and cheered
Chambers, until it occurred to him that he might be
taken to the airport and deposited on the next plane out.
'No, that is not my intention,' Gomez informed him,
when he finally showed up, some three hours later. 'I am
taking you to La Picota to see Hernan Galeano.'
Chambers stared at him in amazement. He was a
slight, impeccable man, with a handsome thatch of
silvery hair and an impressive black moustache that
framed his mouth like a horseshoe. He was well-known
for the risks he took, and the fearless and impossible
battle he waged against organized crime. He was also
known as something of a joker, and it was to that side of
his character that Chambers's suspicions immediately
turned.
'I take it you do want to see the man?' Gomez barked.
'I don't know about see him,' Chambers responded.
'I'd like to kill him.'
'We'll need to discuss that,' Gomez replied, deadpan.
'But now you will come with me and we will drive to the
prison. Galeano is expecting us. I did tell you, did I not,
that the order for his release has been signed? He will be
free by the end of the month.'
Though disgusted, Chambers wasn't surprised. It was
possible to buy anything here, including escape from a
life sentence.
Minutes later they were speeding along the autopista in Gomez's grey armour-plated Mercedes. Though it was against regulations, he liked to drive himself once in
a while, so the chauffeur had been banished to one of the
gleaming black Jeep Cherokees - also armour-plated that
were providing the escort. The eight bodyguards
inside the Jeeps were equipped with Uzi smgs and CAR15
carbines, standard issue for the protection of high
ranking officers. The weapons were certainly necessary,
for there had been at least two dozen attempts on
Gomez's life that Chambers knew of, so the fact that he
was still living was pretty convincing evidence that no
one went until their time was up. He'd come damned
close on a few occasions, however, one of them not so
long ago, hence the reason for his lengthy Spanish
vacation, recuperating from a car-bomb attack outside
his brother-in-law's country home.
'So why the visit?' Chambers asked.
'Galeano requested it,' Gomez answered. 'I thought
you would have no objection. Did you ever visit La
Picota before?'
Chambers nodded. There are a lot of people with a lot
of information inside those walls,' he replied.
Gomez's eyebrows rose in agreement. 'Did you visit
the rich guys, or the lobos?' he asked.
'Both.'
The forward Jeep was racing ahead. Gomez swerved
out from behind a lumbering bus straight into the path
of an oncoming truck. His foot hit the gas and he pulled
off the pass with inches to spare. The men in the car in
front, and the Jeep behind, appeared oblivious to their
boss's close call with mortality, so intent were they in
challenging their own.
'So, if you've already seen the rich guys, you know
what to expect?' Gomez continued.
Chambers let go his breath. 'More or less.' he said.
'Why did he request the visit, do you know?'
'He wants to offer you a deal.' Gomez answered.
Chambers was immediately wary. 'What kind of a
deal?'
'The kind where he gets to win and you get to lose.'
Gomez answered with a grin. 'What other kind of deal is
there, if you're Hernan Galeano?'
'He didn't tell you what it was?'
'No. By the way, did anyone tell you that the movie
got cancelled?'
Chambers turned to look at him. 'No. When?'
'A couple of days ago. Everyone's flying back to LA, it
was on the CNN news last night. They also said that the
woman who was shot is making some progress.'
Chambers's relief to hear that Ellen was still alive
momentarily swamped everything else. He thought of
Michael and wished again that he could be there now,
lending some support, doing whatever he could to help
him through all this. He didn't imagine that Michael
would welcome his presence, however, and it saddened
him greatly to know that he had probably lost one of the
most valued friends of his life.
Turning his thoughts abruptly away, he considered
Galeano's victory in getting the movie stopped. That the
man could wield such power from a prison cell was an
outrage beyond any civilized level of tolerance, so too
was the fact that Rachel's death remained unavenged.
Bitterness welled in him with all the might of impotent
fury - no-one, but no-one, should be allowed to get away
with the hideous crimes and manipulation that Galeano
was enjoying, though how to stop it, when the man
owned half the Government, was a question with no
easily detectable answer.
'What about the kids?' he asked. 'Did the list get any
longer?'
Gomez kept his eyes on the road. 'Seven died that we
know of,' he answered. He glanced at Chambers. 'You
want to know why I did nothing to stop it,' he said, 'so I
will tell you. There was nothing I could do. The men he
was using were all officers of the Metropolitan Police
Command, which, as you know, covers the dope
dealing, gang areas of Calle del Cartucho and Olla de la
Once. Not nice places. This is not my territory, nor are
they my officers, so I was unable to get any news of the
investigation.' He looked at Chambers again, then
added, 'Until yesterday. I am still not sure there is
anything I can do, the officer in charge of that area is
notoriously corrupt and is known to encourage the
death squads. He will do all he can to protect his men,
and Galeano will pay him handsomely to do it.'
Chambers sat with that, knowing that nothing he said
or felt would change the intolerable truth of this nation's
horrifying corruption.
"There is also some other news you should know
about.' Gomez told him. 'Your friend, Sandy Paull, has
disappeared.'
Chambers's head spun round.
'Calm down,' Gomez chided, before he could speak.
'Alan Day informs me that she took herself into hiding
right after the interview she gave. A very wise move, if
you ask me. First she saves your life by letting me know
you are coming, then she saves her own. Sounds like a
pretty smart woman.' His eyes were twinkling, as he
waited for his suspicions of a romance to be confirmed.
Chambers turned away, then immediately tensed as
they rounded a bend and came right up on the tail of a
horse-drawn cart.
Gomez was unruffled as he slammed on the brakes,
then accelerated hard towards an upcoming bend.
This was by no means the first journey Chambers had
made with Gomez behind the wheel, but, as always, he
considered it could very likely be his last. Should that
turn out to be the case, the irony of his last will and
testament being called into play for a road accident
would only be surpassed by the indubitably supreme
irony that he had left all his worldly goods to a child
who wasn't his.
But he wasn't losing any sleep over that, for he was
well past the shock of his disappointment now, and, if he
thought of it at all, was more intrigued by the discovery
that he actually wanted to be a father. He could only feel
glad that it wasn't going to happen with Ellen, however,
for God knew he'd caused enough anguish in Michael's
life without wanting to saddle the man with a thorn that
could never be plucked. No, if he were ever going to
have a child - and the chances of that were not looking
good, considering where he was and the extreme
likelihood he'd get blasted to kingdom come any second
- he wanted it to be with a woman he loved, not one who
loved somebody else.
Immediately Sandy came to his mind, not because he
considered her to be that woman, but because he knew
she did. However, he wasn't going to get into that now,
it was neither the time nor the place. He'd deal with it
later, if there ever came a later, when events in Colombia
were no longer overshadowing the anger he still felt at
the way she hadn't committed her vote to Michael; for
her part in making him think Ellen's baby was his, and
then for her decision to reveal publicly the purpose of his
Bogota mission. In truth, he already recognized the
unreasonableness of blaming her for problems that were
entirely his, but right now he would go no further than
hoping she was OK wherever she was hiding, and had
the common sense to stay there until all this was over.
It was mid-afternoon by the time they finally drove in
through the electronically controlled gates of La Picota.
Despite recognizing Gomez, the green-uniformed police
guards who patrolled the entrance went through the
usual drill of making every one of his party step out of
their vehicles and running them over with metal
detectors - which couldn't have been more absurd
considering the small arsenal of hardware on full view
inside the cars. Security cameras tracked their progress
to the maximum security wing, where the bodyguards
were told to wait outside while Chambers and Gomez
were relieved of all visible weapons and escorted in.
Though Chambers had visited the prison before, so
knew what to expect, this was going to be the first time
he'd ever come face to face with Hernan Galeano.
Already the proximity was stimulating his nerves and
charging him up with more bitterness and vengeance
than he'd felt in months. It was maybe just his
imagination, but he was sure he could sense Rachel
around him, moving along the corridors and stairwells
with him, as though she were anxious, or maybe eager to
be there when it came time to confront the man who had
ordered her death.
Chambers's hatred was growing: the urge to
annihilate the man who had ruined his life was starting
to bind him up, gripping him with a force that was so
strong it was moving out of his control. Quick images of
Rachel's nightmare ordeal were flashing through his
head, in a way he hadn't allowed them to in months.
Once again he could hear her cries, see her terror, feel
her pain. He cringed at the tearing, brutal force of the
rapists, the hands that beat her, imprisoned her, violated
her and finally killed her. He was becoming affected by
the rousing air of violence creeping from the walls
around him, sending a surging morass of rage rolling
through his veins. Nothing had felt this intense since
she'd died, and he knew beyond doubt that he wouldn't
be leaving this place without laying hands on the son of
a bitch who had ordered the abomination that had
ended her life. Galeano wanted a deal, then he was
going to get a deal, one he wasn't going to forget for the
rest of his worthless existence.
At the end of a glaringly lit upper-level corridor with
no windows, nor visible signs of other human life, the I
blue-uniformed prison guard who was leading them I
told them to wait. He went in through a heavy iron door, I
leaving it to clang shut behind him. They could still hear I
the faint echo of his footsteps receding, and the muted I
sounds of prisoner activity that stained the bowels of I
this hellhole.
Chambers knew Gomez was watching him - then he
felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He didn't respond.
A few minutes later the guard was back. 'Come this
way.' he told them.
They followed, passing through the metal door into
the grotesque belly of the wing where the noise was a
Kafkaesque symphony and the smell was a choking
stench of ammonia mixed with a sweet drug concoction.
They were led to a small unoccupied cell with nudes all
over the walls, a couple of meagre bunks and a latrine in
one corner.
'You will wait here,' the guard said. 'Senor Galeano
will see you when he is ready.'
In a flash Chambers had him by the throat. 'You tell
that son of a bitch he's going to see us right now,' he
spat.
The guard's menacing eyes bored into his. His hand
was reaching for his club. He was going to be real happy
to smash this cocksucking gringo's skull to pulp.
Gomez stepped in, putting a hand over the guard's,
blocking the club. There was a moment's stand-off, then,
with a grunt of disgust, Chambers shoved the man
backwards and let go. Gomez held him steady.
'We don't wait for scum like Galeano,' Chambers
snarled. 'So you tell that murdering bastard he either
sees me right now, or he can go straight to fucking hell
with whatever deal he's got cooked up in that corrupt
fucking trash can he calls a head.'
The guard's eyes narrowed again. He wanted to waste
this cabron real bad.
Gomez spoke. 'Do as the man says,' he told the guard.
Very slowly the guard tore his eyes from Chambers
and glared at Gomez.
Gomez nodded and smiled. 'You heard what he said.
Go tell Galeano we know he's a big enchilada around
you arse-licking scumbags, but to us he's got less worth
than a used-up toilet roll. So we talk right now, or we're
out of here.'
Venom blazed from the guard's eyes. He looked at
Chambers again, then spat on the floor. He waited for
Chambers to respond. Chambers merely looked at him.
The guard's mouth twisted with contempt as, muttering
obscenities, he started out of the cell.
A minute later Chambers and Gomez were being
escorted by two more guards across an open landing.
The inmates were tracking their progress, some silently,
some whistling and jeering, others making lewd or
violent gestures. Chambers and Gomez kept on going,
heading for a plush leather door at the far end of the
landing.
What they found the other side came as no surprise to
Chambers, for he'd been in similar quarters right here in
this prison, maybe had even been in these before. If he
had, they had changed somewhat with their new owner,
for he recalled none of the costly antiques or paintings
that were placed gracefully around the freshly
decorated walls, though he did recognize the huge
picture window with its fancy bars and splendid view of
the hills. There were computers, telephones, faxes, TV
screens, a state-of-the-art CD player, Persian carpets on
the floor, a matching set of three luxury sofas and a
handsomely equipped open-plan kitchen where a
clumsy-looking inmate was currently whipping up
some delectable concoction. As they entered the cook
glanced up, and Chambers was sure he detected a
moment's recognition between the apron-clad thug and
the ever-impassive Gomez.
'I will tell Senor Galeano you are here,' another
toadying inmate said, looking and sounding like the
finest of manservants. 'You can sit down.'
Chambers looked at Gomez, who appeared no more
inclined to make himself cosy than he was. The
manservant performed an obsequious bow, and turned
towards the kitchen. Just past it, he knocked discreetly
on a plain white door, then stood back abruptly as it
opened and Hernan Galeano walked out.
Chambers's eyes were like flint as he looked the man
over. He wasn't as tall as Chambers had expected, nor
did he look particularly close to his fifty-nine years, but
with his large, square-shaped head, hanging jowls and
pencil-thin moustache, he was every bit as ugly as his
pictures foretold. He was dressed in an expensive navy
sweat suit, tennis socks and no shoes, and flashed more
gold than a whore's secret stash.
He grinned. His teeth were big and false and
ludicrously white. 'General Gomez, Senor Chambers.'
he said, holding out his arms, 'welcome to my humble
dwelling.'
As he came towards them Chambers could feel
himself tensing. This was the slimeball son of a bitch
who'd torn his entire life to shreds; who'd made billions
of dollars exporting cocaine and heroin that ended up
ruining the lives of so many innocent American kids;
who'd ordered the hit on seven defenceless minors and
paid the goddamned police to do it; who'd sent in his hit
men to shoot and kill a pregnant woman and her
bodyguard. And he sat here in this vamped-up jail cell,
like some untouchable despot, with more privileges at
his fingertips than a dozen fucked-up junkies had hours
left to live.
'It was so good of you to come,' he said, holding a
hand out to Chambers.
Chambers looked at the hand, then returning his eyes
to the glassy blue orbs in Galeano's face, he pulled back
his arm and before Galeano had time to blink he was
doubled over in agony.
Chambers flexed his hand as the bodyguards rushed
in, knives and iron bars coming out of thin air. Galeano
crumpled to his knees.
Gomez looked at Chambers. 'Not clever.' he
remarked.
Galeano was gasping for air, choking and trying to
talk. 'Get back, get back.' he wheezed, waving for the
bodyguards to back off. 'Just help me up.'
Gomez and Chambers watched and waited as the old
man was set back on his feet, given a crisp linen
handkerchief to dab his mouth and a glass of sparkling
water. 'Bring my guests some drinks.' he managed after
a while.
'Keep your drinks.' Chambers barked, stalling the
rush to obey. 'What's your deal?'
Galeano grinned, then coughed. 'You're going to pay
for what you just did.' he said breathlessly.
"The deal, Galeano.' Gomez pressed.
Galeano coughed again. 'I heard the movie was
stopped.' he said. 'Is it true?'
'It's true,' Gomez confirmed.
'I want proof.'
'What the fuck!' Chambers spat incredulously.
'You heard the news.' Gomez told him.
'How do I know that's true? You guys, you can say
anything on the TV. How do we know it's true?'
'You've got your people in the US.' Chambers
seethed. 'The sicarios you send after pregnant women,
you fucked-up son of a bitch. You can be extradited for
that, and I'm going to make fucking sure it happens.'
Galeano chuckled. 'But I'm already in prison, thanks
to you.' he said.
'He knows the papers are signed. Gomez told him.
'So he knows you're going to be walking out of here any
time now.' He started to grin. 'And do you know what's
going to happen then?' he said, obviously relishing the
news he was about to break. 'The DAS are going to arrest
you, Hernan, and hand you right over to agents from the
US Federal Bureau of Investigation. And the Feds,
they're going to be taking you on a nice, all-expenses
paid journey to the Golden State of opportunity - and
capital death. And do you know how they can do that?
They can do it because, like my friend here just told you,
when you ordered the hit on the woman who was
producing the movie, you crossed American borders,
Hernan, like you crossed the street and walked right into
a Federal jail. Boy, they're going to be happy punks the
day you get out of here, because they can kill you legally,
Hernan. That's right, legally, because that's what
happens to scum like you in the United States of !
America.'
Galeano wasn't fazed. 'Gomez, you don't know shit.'
he told him mildly.
Gomez continued to smile.
Galeano moved his eyes to Chambers. For a while he
merely looked him over, then taking another sip of
water he said, 'I owe you, Tom Chambers. I owe you big
time for what you did to me and my people. All that
bullshit evidence you spread over the papers; all the lies
the cheating, double-crossing sons of bitches you got
into bed with gave you. You came after me, Chambers,
and let me tell you, boy, I been lying awake here at night
dreaming about how I'm going to come after you. I've
got a thousand different ways of making you pay, and
my boys, they all know every one of them.'
'You hit the jackpot the day you killed Rachel.'
Chambers told him.
Galeano's eyebrows rose. 'You think that was me?' he
said.
'I know it was you.'
Galeano nodded. 'They sure made it look like it was
me,' he said. 'And how difficult was that? I was the guy
you were focusing on, so it made sense I'd want you to back off. So Molina took your girl and let you think he
was acting under my instructions.'
Chambers merely stared at him.
'He had some issues with her, right?' Galeano
continued. 'She wrote about him, told the world what a
corrupt, perverted little toerag he is. She hurt his
package-tour business real bad with that report, so I'm
told. You know, the packages he runs from Europe,
setting up all those shitfuck paedophiles with as many
kids as they can bang in a fortnight. So he wanted to get
even, and he reckoned putting you and me in the frame
together was a clever way of doing it. Thought he'd get
away with it, and he might've if I hadn't paid someone
to go find out the truth.'
Chambers looked at Gomez.
Gomez looked at Chambers.
'And that's what you've managed to come up with,
after four years behind bars?' Chambers sneered. 'You
reckon you can slither your way out of this by dumping
it all on the creep you paid to kidnap, torture and kill the
woman he already had issue with? You're a piece of shit,
Galeano. A stinking, lying, useless piece of shit. Your
nephews were there when she was killed. They were the
ones who raped her along with Molina. They tied her up
and did things to her that no decent man would even
know how to do. They're like you, Galeano. They're not
fit to tread the same earth as normal human beings.'
Galeano's gruesome teeth were showing in a smile.
'You're not helping yourself here, son,' he warned.
'You're not helping yourself one bit.'
'The way I see it, you're the one needs help,'
Chambers told him. ' 'Cos you're the one who's top of
the Feds' dance card.'
Galeano found that amusing. 'You just don't get who
I am, do you?' he said. 'And that's surprising when you
got yourself more information on me than my own
mother - God rest her soul - ever had. You did a good
job with your investigation, I'll hand you that, but
despite what you learned about me back then you still
don't seem to be connecting with who I really am. But
that's OK, because you will. You're going to find out just
how much your FBI boys scare me.' He looked at the
men around him and they all started to laugh. 'You
Americans have got no power here, my friend. I know
you like to think you have, but you're oh, so wrong
about that.'
Chambers's lips were twisting into a sneer. 'So tell me,
just why do you think you're in prison here, Galeano?'
he challenged. 'Four years it's taken you to buy your
way out, so just who do you think your friends out there
were trying to appease by putting you in here at all, if
not the Americans? And I don't know about you, but I'd
call four years a pretty long gesture for a man who likes
to think he's got as much power as you do.'
'Chambers, you don't know the half of it,' Galeano
responded. 'And I'm sure as hell not going to take the
time to explain. But I will tell you this. If you think the
general here is your safe ticket around this city then
you're running straight up a blind alley, because he's got
no more power to help you than your dead girlfriend's
got power to come back and fuck you.'
Chambers's face hardened, showing that the barb had
struck home.
Gomez stepped in. 'All right, let's cut to the chase,
Galeano,' he said. 'You got us here to talk about a deal,
so let's hear something before we get on our way.'
Galeano handed his water to a flunky, then massaged
his heavy chin. 'The woman who went on the Larry King
show and told the world my nephews killed your
girlfriend,' he said, 'she did a lot of damage. It could be
she's put us in a position where there's no longer any
deal to be cut.'
'Get on with it,' Gomez snapped.
Galeano shot him a look. 'But like with most things,'
he said, dragging his eyes back to Chambers, 'there's
always a way round it. So the deal is this: you lay off my
nephews and I'll give you Molina. That means you're
going to have to go public and tell the world the woman
on Larry King got it wrong. You do that, and Molina's all
yours. Tell you what, we'll even give you evidence to get
him shipped to the States to stand trial. Unless you
decide to do with him what he did with your girlfriend.'
He shrugged. 'It's your call.'
Chambers looked at Gomez.
Gomez nodded and they turned to walk out of the
room. At the door Chambers turned back. 'What about
the kids?' he said.
Galeano waved a hand. 'Gutter scum,' he snarled.
'I want your word that you'll lay off them as of now,'
Chambers said.
Galeano's piercing eyes narrowed. 'You got it,' he
said.
Gomez opened the door.
'So do we have a deal?' Galeano demanded.
Gomez looked back over his shoulder, then started to
grin.
Galeano's face twitched. 'Deal or no deal you're a
dead man, Gomez,' he growled. 'And you, Chambers.
What they did to your girlfriend is going to be nothing
to what they're going to do to you, you motherfucking
son of a bitch.'
Chambers turned back. He too was grinning.
'Don't underestimate me, Chambers,' Galeano
warned. 'One word from me and you won't even get as
far as your next step out of here.'
'Give the word,' Gomez challenged. 'Give the word
and watch your whole fucking empire go up like Apollo
13.'
'Shove it up your ass, Gomez,' Galeano snarled. 'You
don't scare me.'
'And you don't scare me,' Gomez responded. 'But I'll
tell you what does,' he added, glancing at his watch, 'is
all the shit those nephews of yours are going to give up
now that my men have got them in jail.'
Galeano visibly blanched, but made a quick recovery,
'You're bluffing,' he growled.
'And do you know why it scares me?' Gomez
continued, taking a knife from his pocket and going back
into the room where he began cutting all the cables that
connected Galeano's impressive technology. 'It scares
me because of all the hits you're going to order the
minute you get word I'm telling the truth. I wonder how
long we can keep your nephews alive,' he mused,
'before you pay one of my men enough to get your sicarios through?'
'You can bet your ass,' Galeano seethed, 'that if you're
not bullshitting me here, then it'll be you they come for
first, Gomez. You and that shitfuck journalist there who
I should have had killed four years ago along with his
cock-sucking whore of a girlfriend.'
Chambers and Gomez looked at each other. Gomez's
eyes were gleaming. 'Adios, Galeano,' he said, pocketing
his knife. 'We won't be meeting again, 'cos not even all
those lawyers you're aiming on getting lined up to keep
your extradition dragging on for years can save you
from what's coming your way.' And with a final salute
to the chef, Gomez led the way out.

Minutes later Chambers and Gomez were back in the
fresh air, where one of Gomez's bodyguards helped him
detach the recorder he had strapped inside his shirt.
When they were finished Gomez pocketed the tape, and
slipping in behind the wheel of his car he waited for
Chambers to get in beside him.
'I think we got all we needed,' he said, as they drove
out of the complex. 'A confession to ordering the hits on
the kids, and on Rachel. It'll be up to the Feds to get a
confession out of their arrests in LA-' He looked at
Chambers. 'I did tell you they'd made arrests, did I?' he
said.
'No.' Chambers answered.
'A couple of days ago. So it'll be up to them to get a
confession from the punks they reeled in that they were
getting their orders from Galeano. Anyway, he'll have
figured out by now that one of us was wired, so once
he's got his command station active again there's going
to be a price on our heads that'll make this nation's GNP
look like a poor man's power bill. And having his
nephews in custody isn't going to cut us any slack
either.'
Chambers looked at him in amazement. 'You mean
you weren't bluffing about the nephews?' he said.
He shrugged. 'The raid on the Tolima estate is
scheduled for midnight tonight,' he said. 'Our
intelligence informs us that's where the nephews are
holed up, and as they've been reneging on some deals
with the guerillas in recent months, they're not going to
be able to rely on their paid protection the way they once
could. In fact, I've got good reason to believe the
guerillas are going to start shooting any of the bastards
that look like escaping.' He glanced at Chambers. 'And
if you're thinking you want to be a part of that raid then
you just start thinking again. As of now you're going
underground and if need be I'll put you in chains to keep
you there.' He grunted. 'Though why I should care
about your miserable ass when I got my own to look out
for sure beats the hell out of me.'
Chambers turned to stare out of the window.
'I know what you're thinking.' Gomez told him.
'You're thinking all this should have happened four
years ago, right after Rachel was killed. And you're
right, it should have. But I couldn't even get close to
Galeano back then. His friends in the Government had
him all padded out with their own protection - that is,
the ones you didn't manage to send down with him. It's
taken time, a lot of time and a lot of manpower, to get us
to the point we're at now. Even getting into the prison
with a wire on and a knife in my pocket, the way we just
did, would have been impossible as recently as a month
ago. You just got to wait for grudges to come up,
disaffection to come down and allegiances to break
apart. That's the way things work around here, and well
you know it. But if you think you'll ever get Galeano
back to the States to stand trial you're falling into a fool's
haven, because it's never going to happen. Yeah, I know
I told him it would, but he's got enough cash and
enough lawyers to keep that case stalling until long after
the world's lost interest. What he doesn't have, though,
is the crystal ball that's telling me he's going to be in La
Picota for the rest of his worthless existence.'
Chambers looked at him, waiting for an elaboration,
but Gomez only chuckled and pressed his foot down
harder on the gas.
'The next few days are going to be critical for you and
me,' he said finally. 'That's how long it's going to take
for all this to wrap up the way we need it to, that's
presuming it does. Until then, you could spend your
time making up your epitaph, 'cos you're likely going to
need it. Or,' he added, glancing over with a grin, 'you
could start working out what you're going to do with
Molina, because, in my opinion, you deserve a shot at
that bastard before his arrest becomes official.'
'You mean you've got him?' Chambers said, feeling a
twist in his gut.
'Not yet,' Gomez answered. 'But have faith, my boy,
have faith.'
An hour later Chambers was inside a run-down finca on the road to Medellin, with a dozen armed guards in
the surrounding tangle of shadows and trees. The moon
was just a pale ghost of itself as it rose in the twilight;
and the eerie sense that he was never going to see Gomez
I again, as the Mercedes disappeared in the distance, was something he was struggling to put down to nothing more than an understandable paranoia.

Alone in her room Sandy kept a near twenty-four hour
vigil on the news, not daring to pick up the phone to
anyone for fear the call might be traced back to where
she was. So far she had learned nothing about Tom, but
comforted herself with an assurance that if anything had
happened it couldn't fail to make many more bulletins
than one. Ellen was still unconscious, and according to
the news an hour ago, it was now feared she was
slipping into a coma.
Sandy's heart went out to Michael. She knew that
Ellen had been breathing unassisted for a while, so
Michael's hopes must have been soaring, until some
kind of complication had set in and the life-support
machines were reconnected. And this on the day that the
FBI had announced they were charging the two men
they had arrested in connection with the murder of Kris
Santiago, and the shooting of Ellen Shelby McCann. It
was looking much more likely now that the charge
would turn into one of double murder.
Sandy looked down at the cluttered desk in front of
her. If Ellen died, and with Rachel already dead, she
couldn't help but be aware that she, the woman neither
Michael nor Tom wanted, would be the one still left in
their lives. It was a horrible, painful reality to face, that
she might occupy a place in the world that others
wanted for somebody else. But she wasn't in control of
the way things turned out; there was nothing she could
do to bring Rachel back, nor could she perform a miracle
to save Ellen.
It wasn't likely that Galeano's men would find out
where she was, but if they did, she had already written
a will. The thought of dying terrified her, though
perhaps it was the kind of death she would suffer,
should they manage to track her down, that terrified her
the most. So she stayed locked in her room, reading, watching TV and checking that nothing was overlooked in her will.
Her remaining shares in World Wide she had left to
Tom - or to Michael if Tom didn't make it. Right now it I
didn't seem that the movie would ever start shooting
again, but if it did she knew how vital it was to remove
all of Ted Forgon's power. Apart from allocating her
shares, she had taken further steps to ensure that Forgon
never again made a single decision regarding the film that meant so much to Tom. What was more she had
made certain that Forgon would know she was behind
the ignominy and defeat he so badly deserved.
Her apartment and jewellery she had left to Nesta, and
everything else she owned she had bequeathed to the
people who were looking after her now. Even if no-one
else understood that, Tom would, presuming, of course,
that he made it through whatever hell he was enduring
now, and that he didn't fall into the trap of taking the
revenge he had promised himself on Salvador Molina.

Michael sat at Ellen's bedside, his head resting on one of
the blue padded bed rails, his hand barely touching hers.
He was almost asleep, so exhausted now by his vigil that
the whole of his life had lost shape and meaning. He
didn't understand what had happened, why her lung
had suddenly collapsed again and she had started
slipping away when she had been doing so well. With all
his heart he had believed that it was only a matter of
hours before she would open her eyes and look at him;
before they could ask her to cough to help them remove
the tube that was still in her lungs. Instead, they had
been forced to reconnect the tube, which was once again
pumping and sucking air in and out of her body, along
with all the other life-preserving elements that were
keeping her there.
By contrast the baby was coming along so well that he
was now breathing alone, and one of the IVs in his scalp
had just been removed. His skin was no longer red and
shiny; it was turning pink and healthy, and his hair was
coming through quite thick and black. Not long now, the
doctor said, before Michael would be holding him and
feeding him. Each time Michael looked at him he could
feel the tears sliding down his face. This was Ellen's son,
the child she wanted so badly, that he loved not only
because it was theirs, but because it was hers. It didn't
matter whose loss would be the greater, his or his son's,
all that mattered was that they remained together, the
way Ellen would want.
Her parents had gone back to the house now, leaving
him alone with her, the way he preferred. It wasn't that
he wanted to keep them away, but their fear, their
terrible anguish and confusion made his own worse. He
guessed that his gaunt, unshaven face held the same
hardship for them, though they all, in their own ways,
tried to comfort each other. He wondered how they
would all be managing without his mother, who was
going quietly on with the everyday chores, and driving
back and forth to the hospital bringing food and the kind
of solace only a mother could provide.
Selfish though it was, he wished desperately that
Robbie were there, as he couldn't bear the thought that
Robbie might never see Ellen again. The house felt silent
and empty without him - Spot's pining was hard to
watch without wanting to hold the scruffy little dog and
weep into his fur. He wondered how it would be, just
him, Robbie, the baby and Spot. It felt all wrong without
Ellen, in fact without her he knew nothing would ever be
right again.
He tried to tell her some of this, leaning on her bed rail
and whispering over the monotonous hiss and puff of
the ventilator. But in the end he was so tired that he fell
asleep where he was, moving into a dream that was so
deep and impenetrable that he didn't feel her hand stir
beneath his, nor did he see her eyes flicker open before,
very gently, they flickered closed again.
Chapter 24

The TV was on, the sound turned down low, as
Chambers, now wearing the combat clothes he'd been
allocated, dozed in a badly sprung chair behind the
boarded-up windows of the finca where Gomez had left
him. The room was spare and dusty, plaster flaking from
the walls, damp creeping across the ceiling, and the
boards underfoot creaked with every move.
There was no satellite or cable, so he had no idea what
was happening in LA, but an earlier local bulletin had
informed him of the successful police raid on the
Galeano estate in the department of Tolima late last
night. It was reported that General Javier Garcia Gomez
and his elite force of British SAS-trained men, in a fleet
of Huey choppers fully equipped with electric Gatling
guns, multiple grenade launchers, bazookas and M60
machine-guns, laid siege to the fifty-acre estate around
midnight, and by morning had secured more than
twenty arrests, as well as the seizure of four private jets,
a small arsenal of Russian, US and Israeli manufactured
weapons, a fully equipped laboratory and some
eighteen tonnes of cocaine. The arrests, the newscaster
had reported, were rumoured to have included Gustavo
and Julio Zapata, the nephews of Hernan Galeano, who
had recently been named in connection with the killing
of the American journalist, Rachel Carmedi, four years
ago.
There had been no mention of guerilla assistance in
the raid, nor, as yet, had there been any update on the
whereabouts of General Gomez and three of his men.
Gomez's second-in-command had reported last seeing
the general and the missing officers running towards a
building only seconds before it exploded, but so far no
bodies had been recovered.
For Chambers, next to Ellen's death, this was the news
he least wanted to hear. He'd sat up all night waiting for
word from the general, knowing it wasn't likely to come
until much later in the day, but unable to sleep anyway.
Then the news had reported his disappearance, and by
mid-afternoon he'd already begun to detect a
nervousness in the officers around him. They were
clearly unsettled by the general's failure to make contact,
and the lack of any instruction on how to proceed with
the protection of the general's friend.
It was dusk now, though somewhere nearby a
cockerel crowed incessantly, and a dog let up an
occasional yowl. As he drifted in and out of sleep
Chambers could hear the officers outside, the low
mutter of their voices, and the flare of a match as they lit their barillos.
He wasn't exactly sure when he began picking up on
the increased level of their tension, or what it was about
their change in mood that was now alerting him to how
vulnerable they were - in the heart of a small valley,
remote from the world, with only a few Berettas, M16s
and MGLs to protect them. In any other country that
would be way above requirements - in Colombia it
wasn't going to do it.
He went outside to get a better sense of the air. It was
dark now, and the dozen officers guarding the finca were
all squatting in shadows, rounds of ammunition laced
through their guns, combat knives and grenades
bulging from their belts. Seeing him one of them loped
over, drawing him down against the wall of the house,
and edging him to the cover of a mushrooming shrub.
'Any news?' Chambers asked.
'No.' the young man answered. His darkly handsome
features were smeared in mud, the whites of his eyes
gleamed like moons. 'It is not usual for the general to go
so long without contact,' he said.
Chambers glanced at him, then dropped his eyes to
the dirt. 'Do you think he's still alive?' he said softly.
'They have found no bodies.' the man answered.
Chambers took heart from that, mainly because he
needed to, rather than because he termed it conclusive.
He looked up at the looming hillsides around them
where the darkness hung in thick, impassive shadows,
and the air was as warm as his breath. His ears were
tuned for the slightest sound beyond the grate and
screech of night creatures; in the distance an owl hooted,
while hidden in the impenetrable forest the stealthy
prowl of jaguars, ocelot, deer or armadillos made a soft
crush on the scrub.
'Who are you in contact with?' Chambers asked.
'Major Rodriguez.' the man answered.
'What are his orders?'
'For us to sit tight. If there are any signs of an attack,
we are to make it our priority to get you out of here.'
Chambers gave an ironic smile. 'Cut and run.' he
murmured, knowing that would go down hard with
these fighting men.
'I have some whisky,' the man offered, and digging
into his belt he handed Chambers a flask.
Chambers sucked in a mouthful, and passed the flask
back.
They sat quietly together, watching and feeling the
night and listening to each other's breath. From time to
time Chambers saw a shadow move and tensed, though
he knew it was another of the men shifting position. His
heartbeat felt abnormally dense, and as the hours passed
his skin began to prickle with the prescience of danger.
It was an hour before dawn when they first heard the!
distant sound of an engine. All over the garden the thumbing-down of safeties and readying of machine!
guns made a short, muted resonance through the
drooping trees and brush. The man with Chambers disappeared for a moment, and returned with another
officer. They took position either side of him, then
signalled for him to follow.
As he moved Chambers could feel the stiffness in his
limbs, and the dewy dampness that had seeped into his
clothes. In one hand he carried the Beretta, in the other
he held the grenade he had been given during the night.
This wasn't the first time he'd been in a situation like
this, it had happened many times before in El Salvador,
Nicaragua, Sarajevo, the Lebanon, but the fear never got
any easier to handle. If anything, it got worse, for there
was only so much luck a man could count on before it
finally ran out.
The rumbling of approaching vehicles was getting
louder by the second. It was impossible to tell how many
there were, though he heard someone guess six. By now
he and his escorts were at the side of the house, edging
backwards into one of the barns. More men were in front
of them, retreating too as they swept the garden with
eyes and guns.
They drew into the barn, the rank, stale smell of old
molasses and camphor clogging on their chests. The first
officer pointed Chambers to the armoured Jeep, nodding
for him to get in. Chambers did as he was told. The barn
door remained open. The roar of advancing engines
trailed through the valley as the front line of his guard
moved forward towards the rusted chain-link fence and
thorny scrub.
His two escorts got into the Jeep with him, one in the
back, the other in the driver's seat. Their faces were taut
and pale. Each was acutely aware that an attack was
unlikely to come by road like this, alerting them well in
advance with the blatant noise of engines. But six
vehicles could hold twenty-four men and up - at least
twice as many as at the finca. And with the constant
betrayal, switching of allegiances and easy bribes in this
nation, there was a very good chance that the detail of the finca's set-up had been reported to Galeano's men
within minutes of being established.
From where they were sitting they could see the swell
of a nearby hill, visible now in the greyish light before dawn. Their eyes were trained on the road that looped
round it. The vehicles suddenly burst into view, one,
two, three, four of them, headlights beaming, speeding
around the bend like evenly-timed missiles. Then they
were gone, descending fast down the track that led to the finca.
Chambers glanced at the man beside him. He was still
clutching his gun, eyes rooted on the tangled sprawl of
garden and open land beyond. They listened as the
vehicles screeched to a halt, expecting gunfire, hearing
none. There was the sound of men shouting, then
running. The driver leapt out of the car and moved
swiftly to the barn door. There was more shouting as
someone called out, 'Don't shoot! Italo, Cesar! Put down
your guns!' Two camouflaged figures appeared in the
doorway. Behind them came half a dozen more.
Chambers dived for cover, then spun round, ready to
shoot, as the door beside him was suddenly yanked
open.
'Senor Tom! Please, come with me.'
'What is it? What's happening?' Chambers asked,
jumping down from the car.
'We have orders,' the man told him. 'Valerio has come
from the general. He is here. He will tell you.'
Valerio, the man who had been one of his escorts for
the past five days, was standing in the midst of the
group, looking dishevelled and seriously hyped up.
'Senor Tom,' he grinned when he saw Chambers
coming towards him. 'The general will be relieved to
know you are safe. But you must come with me now.'
He was already walking away.
'Where are we going?' Chambers asked, as they all
started across the garden. 'Where's the general?'
'He is safe,' Valerio answered. 'Please, get in the car, I
will explain on the way.'
The four vehicles turned out to be more armoured
cars, this time three Chevy Blazers and a Ford Explorer.
All were black or dark grey. Valerio pulled open one of
the front passenger doors and gestured for Chambers to
get in. As he did so two armed men climbed in the back,
and Valerio got behind the wheel.
Minutes later all four vehicles were speeding back
towards the mountain road. The sun was half over the
horizon by now, and a steamy mist was beginning to rise
from the ground. For a while no-one spoke, and the
further they got from the finca the more unnerved
Chambers became. Twenty-four hours ago he'd been in
no doubt that Valerio was the general's man; now he
remembered that it was only a fool who didn't doubt.
'It said on the news that the general was missing,' he
ventured.
Valerio glanced at him, then leaned over as he took a
sharp bend fast. 'They say many things on the news,' he
answered. 'They know nothing.'
'But the raid. It did happen?'
Valerio grinned. 'Sure, it happened,' he confirmed.
'We took the Zapata boys. They are in custody now. By
tonight we will have their confession that they killed
your girlfriend.'
If he was telling the truth about the arrests, then
Chambers had no problem believing him about the
confession. He knew more than he wanted to about their
methods of extraction. 'And Molina?' he asked.
Again Valerio grinned, and this time threw him a
look. 'I am taking you there now,' he responded.
'He's in custody?'
Valerio shook his head. 'No, but we know where he
is.'
Chambers waited and Valerio started to laugh.
'At ten o'clock this morning,' he said, 'our friend Molina has an appointment with a man who makes
bulletproof jackets. The man, he is a good man, has a fine
reputation, and he doesn't like to provide jackets for
guerillas or traficantes or lowlife scum like Molina. So
when he gets someone like that approach him, he always
tells them no, then he informs us so that we can protect
him from the offences these men take. In Molina's case,
because the general has asked him, Senor Gavira has
agreed to make an appointment. But he won't be there.
It will be just us. Already we have our people in place, at
the sewing-machines and in the offices, looking like Senor Gavira's staff. When you arrive Salvador Molina
will be all yours.'
Chambers turned to look out the window. The Beretta
was back in his belt, and he could feel his palm itching to
hold it. Just thinking of Molina incited the urge to kill.
But not only to kill, to hurt and mutilate, terrorize and
humiliate too. Four years had done nothing to deaden
the need for revenge, nor to lessen the loss that between
them Galeano and Molina had inflicted. How many
nights had he lain awake longing for the woman they
had taken; torturing himself with images of the way
things might have been, of the way things were when
they had loved and laughed, shared dreams and
passions, known anger and outrage and such a depth to
their love that few ever got to experience. She was the
only woman he had ever loved, was probably the only
woman he ever would love. He wanted no closeness
with others; he wanted only her and the life she had been
so brutally deprived of.
But that could never be, and because of it he knew
what he wanted to do to Molina - had known since the
day he'd discovered that it was Molina who had sent
him the photographs of her rape and torture, that it was
Molina who had killed her. The only emotion that
surpassed his hatred for this man was the love he still
felt for Rachel. He was so torn apart by the force of both
that he sometimes despaired of ever knowing peace
again. In his heart he knew she wouldn't want him to
take this revenge, that she would fear the damage it
would ultimately cause him, but this knowledge
couldn't prevail, for she wasn't having to live with the
daily guilt of the fact that he had taken a gamble with her
life and lost. For more than three years he had lived with
the blame for her death, truly believing that had he done
as he was told she would have been allowed to live. But
then he had learned the truth, that Molina was the one
who had abducted her, so no matter what he had done,
what ransom he'd offered, or deal he'd struck, Molina
would have taken it all and killed her anyway. So he
owed Molina, he owed him not only for the trickery, the
deceit, the rape, the murder - but for the dreams of a
future that could now never, ever come true.

It was a quarter to ten when the three escorting vehicles
broke from the convoy and left them to continue on
alone to the jacket-maker's on Carrera twenty-six. By
now they were well inside the city limits of Bogota,
driving through an area Chambers didn't know, but one
like so many others on the outskirts of town, crumbling,
uncleansed and as dangerous as hell. Every window and
doorway was barred, every store had a spyhole to vet
clients before allowing them in. Few walked the streets,
several lay hunched up against walls, flattened
cardboard boxes acting as blankets. It was as rundown
as any place Chambers had seen anywhere in the world,
so much poverty, tragedy, abuse and addiction that it
seemed to be eating the streets like a cancer.
Soon they passed on to a neighbourhood that had
more people on foot, fewer in doorways, some freshly
painted storefronts and garbage dumped in piles rather
than strewn about the sidewalks. Still there were bars on
everything. They came to a stop behind a dark blue
Toyota that was parked outside a tall, purple-fronted
building with green-painted bars that protected a
bulletproof door.
Valerio got out first and went to ring the bell.
Chambers watched him speak through the intercom,
then turn to gesture them out of the car.
'He is here,' he said, grinning as Chambers reached
him.
Chambers felt the knots tighten inside him. Despite
the many fraught and dangerous situations he had been
in in his life he had never yet killed a man, and was now
beginning to wonder if when it came to it, he could
actually go through with it.
The few neighbours hanging about watched with
small interest as four men in combat fatigues and
carrying M60 machine-guns crossed the pavement and
disappeared inside Gavira's purple shop.
The door clanged shut behind them, leaving them
facing a steep concrete staircase. They mounted swiftly
and quietly, stopping at the third floor where a middle
aged, suited man opened a door and stood back for them
to enter.
The room beyond was a medium-sized rectangle, with
a half-dozen or more hanging rails stuffed full of vests
and jackets of all sizes, colours and descriptions, pushed
down one end. There were a couple of desks where a
receptionist and secretary were seated, and beyond
them through an open door were the machinists and
cutters, apparently intent on their work.
Valerio looked at the middle-aged man who nodded
towards a closed door in the opposite wall. 'He is with a
sales representative,' the man said.
Valerio turned to Chambers. Chambers looked at him,
his grey eyes glowing in his unshaven face, which was
showing cruel signs of the stress he was under. He knew
these men would think him a coward if he started to
back off, but goddammit, now he was here he just didn't
know that he had what it took to kill. The shame he felt
at this sudden weakness was as bitter as the anger, but
right now he was finding it impossible to move.
Then the door opposite opened and a man, a stranger,
came out. He took no notice of either Chambers or the
armed officers, but went to a hanging rail and took down
a smart brass-buttoned blazer. Then he re-entered the
office, leaving the door wide open. There were two men
inside, both seated, one with his back to the door, the
other with his feet up on the desk. This man must have
been able to see them, but that he showed no sign of it
indicated he was one of the general's men. He and his
companion appeared relaxed and confident, enjoying
their coffee and the importance they obviously felt at
their need for bulletproof clothing.
'This is one of our newer designs,' the salesman was
saying, as he took the blazer from its hanger. 'It is a little
expensive, but it is of excellent quality and with this
Kevlar padding it will stop .357 magnum, .45 calibre or
9mm sub-machine bullets.' He opened the jacket to
reveal the inside. 'These pouches here are for the steel
plates which, should you choose to insert them, will
protect your vital organs even against 7.62 NATO
rounds. Perhaps you would like to try it?'
Molina put down his coffee and got to his feet. The
other man walked behind him, helped him off with the
full-length leather coat he was wearing, then took the
blazer from the salesman. As Molina slipped it on,
Valerio walked into the office.
'Salvador Molina,' he said.
Molina's head snapped up. 'What the-?' He stopped,
almost physically shrinking at the sight of the combat
gear and heavy artillery.
'We have someone here to see you,' Valerio told him.
Molina swung round. His tall, muscular frame was
dwarfed by the blazer, his wide-set eyes were slits of
terror and confusion.
'You remember me,' Chambers said. 'I'm the man you
sent photographs. The man whose girlfriend you raped
and murdered.'
Molina started backing off, eyes darting from side to
side as he tried to assimilate this sudden change in his
surroundings and work out who everyone was. His
large face was yellowing with fear; his shaking legs
stumbled into a chair. He was trapped and he knew it,
but still wasn't quite accepting it. He began reaching
inside his jacket, then squealed and flung his arm against
the wall as Valerio fired at his wrist.
'What the hell?' he cried. 'Who are you? I don't know
who you are.'
'He just told you who we are,' Valerio reminded him.
'I don't know him. I've never seen him before in my
life.'
A man behind Chambers fired a handgun into the
wall next to Molina. Molina jumped. His face was
starting to twitch.
'You've got the wrong man,' he cried. 'Jesus Christ,
look what you did to my hand.' Blood was dripping
from the wound and running into the sleeve. 'What are
you doing? Who the hell are you?' he demanded, as
Valerio delved inside the leather coat and pulled out
Molina's ID.
'Just wanted to remind you who you are,' he said,
thrusting it at Molina. 'We didn't have any doubt. But
you said you were the wrong man. Seems not. So, why
don't you start by getting down on your fucking knees
and begging Senor Chambers here for your life, the way
you made his girlfriend beg for hers, cochino.'
Molina's eyes were flat with horror. The nightmares
he'd had that the bitch's boyfriend would one day find
him were suddenly right here in this room. He knew
already that he was going to die, and if he was then he
had nothing to lose.
'Beg nicely,' Valerio advised him, 'because all the
decisions around here belong to Senor Chambers, and
he doesn't have a lot of reason to like you.'
Molina's eyes darted back to Chambers. 'Are you out
of your mind?' he sneered. 'I don't beg no scumbag gringo. Let him beg me. Let him ask me what she did
those three days we had her. Let him get off on how we
all fucked her and how she begged us for more and
more.' He put on a female voice. '"Oh Salvador,
Salvador, please come and fuck me, Salvador. Oh,
Gustavo, I love your cock. Give it to me Gustavo." The
bitch just couldn't get enough,' he snarled. 'This asshole
here wasn't man enough for a moza like her, so we gave
her what she wanted, up her cunt, in her ass, down her
throat
He flew back hard against the wall as the first bullet
hit him with all the might of a boxer's fist. Seconds later,
the echo of the gunshot still ringing fiercely in his ears, he looked at Chambers and grinned. 'You want to hear
how many of us fucked her?' he jeered.
Chambers fired again. And again, and again.
Molina danced and jerked, grunted and twisted and
attempted to keep on laughing. He was like a punchbag
inside the blazer, the bullets hitting him with punishing
force, but none could reach him. 'Asshole! Lilylivered gringo cunt!' he spat.
Chambers suddenly grabbed his throat, glared into
his eyes, then head-butted him in the face, breaking his
nose. The man screamed. Blood poured from his
nostrils. Chambers stepped back and aimed his gun at
Molina's groin.
Immediately Molina's hands dropped from his face,
the terror of Chambers's intention registering hard in his
eyes.
'You'll never rape another woman in your goddamned
life.' Chambers growled. His heart was
thumping fast, his loathing was tightening the trigger. 'I
don't know how many women or children you've
beaten, abused, or got working on the streets for you
even now, but this is going to be for them. Every single
one of the poor bastards you've corrupted, victimized,
tormented, and killed. And when I'm through, when
your cock is on the floor and your balls are all full of
bullets, you're going to pick your cock up and you're
going to fucking eat it, do you hear me? You're going to
shove it down your own fucking throat, the way you did
to Rachel.'
Molina's eyes were glassy with panic. He was
shooting glances at the others, seeing if there was any
help to be had. 'He's crazy!' he yelled. 'He's a fucking
madman. You can't let him do this. She was just a whore.
A no-good fucking whore, who couldn't mind her own
fucking. ..'
Chambers fired.
Screams tore out of Molina as he slammed back into
the wall. Blood and urine burst from his groin. He
clutched it frantically, his face twisting in shock and
agony, his skin rapidly turning grey as he slid,
whimpering, down to his heels. 'Aaaay, no, hijoeputa! Mis huevos! No. No.'
'I think my friend here means what he says,' Valerio
remarked mildly.
Shaking uncontrollably, Molina looked up at him. His
breath was fast and shallow, shredding his voice as he
struggled to speak. For the moment it was only possible
to groan as he rocked forward in pain, jerkily fumbling
with the end of his tie as though to bandage his wound.
'You've got to stop him, dios mio. Please, stop him,' he
choked. 'I am a man. He cannot do this to me.'
Valerio looked at Chambers, whose face was ashen
and strained as he stared down at the man in loathing.
'What did you do when Rachel begged?' he demanded. 'Did you give her any mercy, or did you just
find ways of shutting her up?'
Molina was crying with his mouth open. Blood,
mucus and saliva ran down his face. 'You've ruined me,
man,' he wept. 'You've ruined my fucking cock.'
Chambers watched him in disgust. His hands were
shaking. His head was spinning. He couldn't hold on to
the gun. He hated what he'd done, but knew he'd do it
all over again. 'You're going to jail, Molina,' he snarled.
'You're going to jail for the rest of your fucking life
where every pimp and pervert that ever crosses your
path is going to do everything to you that you did to
Rachel and more.'
Molina looked at him, his wild black eyes starting to
dim as his body continued to shake and jerk in shock
and pain. For a moment he didn't understand what was
happening. Was the gringo backing off? He wasn't going
to kill him? No eating his own cock? Holy Mother of
God, yes, the gringo was backing off.
Chambers was walking out the door, vomit rising in
his throat.
Valerio and the others were watching him.
Molina was slipping a bloodied hand to his
waistband. Then, before anyone could move, he
whipped out his gun and fired twice with a .44 magnum.
Both bullets hit Chambers full in the back and
mushroomed on impact.
Chambers flew forward, crashing into a desk and
taking it over with him. Then the entire place erupted in
gunfire, as every armed officer in range shot Salvador
Molina with ammunition that no bulletproof blazer
could stop.

It was only when the mayhem was over and the final
echo of gunfire drifted into silence that Chambers
allowed himself to move. Valerio came to stand over
him, offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet. He
was winded, cut and bruised and shaken to the depths
of his being.
'I think Senor Gavira's vests are to be recommended,'
Valerio stated.
Chambers could barely hear him through the
deafening aftermath of gunfire. He slipped off his vest
and held it up to look at where the bullets had entered.
The bitter stench of gunsmoke mingled with the meaty
smell of torn flesh and blood. For a moment he blacked
out, was revived with water, then dropping the vest he
looked over at Molina. There wasn't much more to see
than a pile of bloodied clothes and the splash of brains
on the wall. Again he felt his stomach rise, and turning
aside he threw up on the floor.

General Gomez stepped out of his Mercedes as the dark
grey Explorer came to a halt beside it. The wind was
blowing a gale across the huge flat plains of the airport,
driving bracken and brush to this far, empty corner.
Valerio got out of the Blazer and saluted the general.
'Everything is in order, sir,' he reported.
The general turned to watch the take-off of an
American Airlines 757. He stayed with it as it soared
overhead, and rose on higher and higher into the clouds.
Then looking back at Valerio he said, 'Did you tell him?'
'That Hernan Galeano is dead? Yes, sir.'
The general nodded.
'He said,' Valerio continued, eyes straight ahead,
'"Seems you just can't get the chefs these days.'"
The general allowed himself a grin, then got back into
the Mercedes and drove away.
Chapter 25

Michael was standing in the doorway trying to see past
all the white coats that were gathered round the bed.
Ellen was watching him, her eyes shining with forced
humour and tears. She had regained full consciousness
a few hours ago, after drifting in and out for the past
day, coming around just long enough to murmur and
hold his hand before slipping away again. In all that
time he hadn't moved from her bedside, except to visit
the bathroom and make way for the doctors.
Now she had been breathing unassisted for long
enough to start becoming agitated by the need to speak.
To enable that the ventilator tube had to be removed
from her lungs, which was what the respiratory
therapist was now doing.
'OK,' the therapist said, 'are you ready to cough?'
Ellen looked up at him and nodded. Her face was still
frighteningly pale, but to see her eyes open and to watch
her respond felt like such a miracle to Michael that he
could barely contain his emotion.
'Off you go then,' the therapist instructed.
Ellen took a breath, then coughed. The therapist eased
gently on the tube. There were murmurs of well done,
and squeezes of her hands. She coughed again, and after
two or three more tries the tube came free.
More congratulations. More coughing. Her lips were
dabbed, the inside of her mouth was washed, then after
checking the rest of her IVs the room finally started to
empty.
Michael walked forward. She looked up at him, her
eyes so anxious and full of love that he felt tears come to
his own.
'Hi,' he said.
She smiled, then tried to speak, but nothing came out.
He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the
mouth. There was still a tube in her nose, and all kinds
of other attachments he had to be careful of, but to feel
her lips beneath his, and the touch of her hand seeking
his, was all that mattered.
'I like the beard,' she managed to croak.
He smiled and kissed her palm as she touched his
chin.
'You look terrible,' she said. Her voice was so faint he
could barely hear, but he laughed at that.
'You look wonderful,' he told her.
'Can I see the baby?'
'They said in a couple of hours.'
She looked disappointed. 'Tell me some more about
him,' she said, rallying.
Michael grimaced. 'Well,' he said, 'he looks a lot better
than he did a week ago. A week ago he was a bit scary.
He looks more human now.'
She smiled and laughed as a tear trickled down onto
the pillow.
'He's off the respirator and his lungs are good,'
Michael went on. 'So's his heart. You know, he looks a
bit of a backchatter to me, and he's not keen on the ICU
so they're moving him to the intermediate ward.'
She swallowed hard. 'He's doing that well?' she said.
He nodded.
'Does he have a name?'
'Not yet. I was waiting for you. But I told him this
morning that if he didn't stop acting up I'd call him
Jasper.'
Ellen laughed.
'He doesn't like me,' he stated, 'because I'm not very
good at feeding him. Well, that's not true, I can do it, but
he doesn't like the frock and mask I have to wear while
I'm doing it.'
Ellen bit her lip as more tears welled in her eyes. 'I
want to see him so bad,' she whispered. 'I want to see
you feeding him in your frock and mask.'
'Don't worry, you will,' he assured her.
He turned round as her parents came into the room,
then stood back to make way for her father.
'Hello Dad,' she rasped, as he took hold of her hand.
The big, brusque Nebraska farmer tried to speak, but
for the moment was too overcome to get any words past
the emotion in his throat.
Michael looked at his mother-in-law, who smiled and
squeezed his arm before stepping forward. 'Hi honey,'
she said, her tired face showing so much relief it seemed
to lighten her by years. 'How're you feeling?'
'OK,' Ellen answered. 'A bit of pain, but not much. I
just want to see the baby.'
Nina smiled. 'You've got a fine son,' she said. 'Dad
and I are real proud.'
Michael put a hand on his father-in-law's shoulder as
the old man began quietly to sob.
Ellen tightened her hold on his hand and cried too. 'I
love you, Dad,' she whispered.
He nodded, then nodded again. They all knew how
precious she was to her father, his only child, the
daughter he loved so much he had been too terrified to
allow her out into the world for fear of something like
this.
'Come on, we don't want to tire her now,' Nina said.
Frank got to his feet, but Ellen held on to him. 'Don't
go home yet,' she whispered. 'Please stay in LA for a
while.'
'We're not going anywhere until you're out of here
and at home with your baby,' her father assured her.
Ellen turned to look up at Michael. He came forward
and took the hand that Frank released.
When her parents had gone she continued to cry, tears
running from her eyes as she clung to Michael's hand
and tried to speak.
'It's OK, darling,' he whispered. 'Take it easy now.
Just take a breath. It's going to be all right.'
'Oh Michael, I'm sorry,' she choked. 'I'm so sorry.'
'Hey,' he laughed. 'There's nothing to be sorry for.'
'I should have told you,' she said. 'I should have told
you as soon as I knew the baby was yours. You deserved
to know. You're his father, and I didn't tell you right
away. Oh Michael, I'm sorry.'
'Sweetheart, it doesn't matter now,' he said. 'All that
matters is that you're here and so's the baby and you're
both going to be just fine.'
'I should have told you about the phone call too,' she
said. 'Someone threatened me. I don't know who it was,
but he told me to back off the movie. I didn't tell you,
because I didn't want to worry you. You had so much
going on with everything else, and you were going to
lose everything... Oh God, I made such a mess of things
and I love you so much.'
'I love you too, and you're a fool not to have told me.
You should have known that you'd matter more to me
than anything. But it's in the past now. We can't change
it, so let's just look forward.'
Her eyes gazed up into his and stayed there for a long,
long time, looking at him, loving him and wanting so
much to hold him. In the end she drifted into sleep, her
hand still holding on to his.
He stayed with her until a nurse came and told him
gently to go. He needed some rest too, and, though
she didn't say it, probably a shower and definitely a
shave.
Chambers took a cab in from LA airport, not sure this
time how long he'd be staying. Presuming his hotel bill
would no longer be picked up by World Wide, he
checked into a room at the Four Seasons rather than a
suite and ordered the belongings he'd left in storage to
be brought up by a porter.
It was early evening. He was tired, hungry and in
desperate need of a drink and some company. But he
knew he wouldn't go in search of any, for he was still too
bruised and shaken by the events of the past week to
want to venture far from this room. Besides, the only
person he really felt like talking to was Michael, but with
so many issues between them right now, that call would
have to wait. At least Ellen was pulling through, or so it
had said on the news, but the first few months of doubt
over the baby, and the collapse of the movie, were
matters that he and Michael would have to sit down
with sooner or later.
He toyed with the idea of trying Sandy's London
apartment again, but didn't imagine Nesta would
welcome being woken up at three in the morning. He'd
tried earlier, during the stopover in Miami, but neither
Nesta, nor any of Sandy's colleagues at the agency, knew
where she was. They hadn't heard from her in over a
week, but Nesta had been hopeful that once Sandy
heard that the Colombian threat had now been dealt
with, she would surface from wherever she was hiding.
Tom certainly hoped so, for he was anxious to let her
know that he was no longer mad at her for disclosing his
plans - if anything, as Gomez had pointed out, he
wanted to thank her for saving his life. He wanted to see
her, too, for, in a surprising kind of a way, he was
missing her.
But any catching-up they had to do would have to
wait until she decided to come out from wherever she
was, and in the meantime he would take a solitary
dinner in his room, sleep for at least twelve hours and
then try to start piecing together some kind of plan for
the future. That wasn't going to be easy, for what had
just occurred in Colombia was bringing back Rachel's
loss as though it had only just happened. He knew there
was a good chance it would pass a lot quicker than
before, but for now the memories, the pain and the
longing were welcome, for it was all there was to hold
them together until such time as he was ready to let go.
And he'd do that soon, he was sure of it; and he prayed
to God that when he did he would be able to find some
kind of peace at last, and maybe even a life that felt
worth living.

It seemed everyone was smiling at Michael as he made
his way along the sixth-floor corridor to where Ellen had
now been moved into a private ward. He smiled back,
and was so euphoric that he might have shaken
everyone by the hand, and even embraced them, had he
not been so overloaded and in a hurry to get to Ellen.
She was holding down solids now, could manage the
bathroom unaided, and the small infection that had
concerned them a couple of days ago was all cleared up.
In fact, there was a very good chance she'd be home by
the weekend, which was going to be an event it would
be hard not to celebrate with fireworks, brass bands and
magnums of champagne. But since she wouldn't be up
to that, both their mothers were planning a small family
dinner which had already turned the kitchen into a no
go zone, unless you had the courage of a madman. And
since neither Michael nor Frank quite qualified there,
they were left either to starve, or eat out.
Spotting Michael coming towards her, one of the
nurses got instantly up from her work station and went
to open Ellen's door.
Ellen was sitting up in bed, the baby cuddled in her
arms as she fed him his formula and gazed adoringly
into his cute little face. There were no IVs or monitors
cluttered around her now, just a TV set perched high on
a bracket, a nightstand full of flowers and a pretty good
view of the Santa Monica mountains from the window.
And of course her son, who had been discharged from
the hospital the day before and had been left here earlier
by Michael while he went off to get her a surprise.
Hearing the door open she turned to see who it was,
then immediately started to laugh as she saw Michael
struggling with a pot plant that was on the fast track to
becoming a tree.
'It's not from me,' he told her, maneuvering it in
through the door.
Ellen frowned curiously, and was about to ask when
Michael put a finger over his lips for her to stop.
'OK. Surprise!' he called.
Ellen looked at the door, then gave a sudden gasp of
joy as Robbie's little face peered anxiously round the
corner. 'Oh my darling.'' she cried, holding out an arm
for him to come to her. 'What are you doing here? When
did you arrive? Oh, let me see you. I've missed you so much.'
More certain now of his welcome, Robbie looked at his
dad, then went sheepishly over to the bed. 'They
wouldn't let me bring Spot,' he said, looking sideways at
the baby.
'Oh, never mind,' Ellen laughed. 'I'll see him soon. Do
you want to jump up here, next to me? You can see the
baby better then. He's your brother, you know.'
He nodded, then lifted his blue eyes to Ellen. He
looked so solemn and worried that she glanced at
Michael to see if he could explain it.
'I've got to go talk to the doctor about the insurance,'
Michael said. 'I'll be right back.'
Surprised by his abrupt departure, Ellen turned back
to Robbie. 'You going to climb up?' she offered.
He nodded, and tugging on the blanket he hoisted
himself up next to her.
'Can I give you a kiss?' she asked, as he gazed down
at the baby.
Again he nodded, and hugging him close she kissed
him hard on the head. 'I'm so happy you're here,' she
told him. 'It's the best surprise ever.'
Robbie kept his head lowered, apparently entranced
by his new brother.
'Do you like him?' Ellen said softly.
Robbie shrugged. 'Yeah, he's OK,' he said.
She smiled and hugged him again. 'So when did you
get here?' she asked. 'I'm so glad you kept it as a
surprise, and my plant is wonderful, by the way.
Definitely the best one I've had. We can probably put it
in the garden when we get home.'
'Dad said that,' he responded. Then he turned his
head to look at her. 'I'm sorry I was nasty to you,' he
suddenly blurted. 'I didn't want you and Dad to be
unhappy, and for you to go and leave Dad on his own
and I know it was my fault, but Dad says it's all right
now and that you're not angry with me ...'
'Oh Robbie.' she cried, pulling him to her. 'It wasn't
your fault, honey. None of it was your fault, and you
mustn't think it was. And you weren't nasty to me, you
were just confused - you wanted your mom, which is
understandable, because she loves you very much and I
know you love her too.'
His eyes continued to search hers, as though he were
taking a while to digest what she was saying. Then he
nodded and said, 'I love Mummy.'
'I know you do.'
'And I love you.'
'Oh, I love you too,' she said and kissed him again.
'You're my big boy, my best boy. And this is my little
boy, and my other best boy.'
He turned back to the baby. 'Can he sleep in my
room?' he said.
'When he gets a bit bigger, sure he can. And when you
get fed up with him we'll put him in the room Gran's
using now, shall we, because he might get in the way
when your friends come over.'
'Yes, he might,' he agreed. 'I think Spot will like him.'
'Oh, I hope so,' Ellen said.
'So how are you doing in here?' Michael said, coming
back and sitting on the edge of the bed. 'Did you say
what you wanted to say?' he asked Robbie.

Robbie nodded, and snuggled in closer to Ellen as
Michael ruffled his hair. 'So what do you think of the
baby?' Michael said.
'He's good,' Robbie answered. 'What's his name?'
Michael and Ellen looked at each other. Then Ellen
turned back to Robbie.
'I know, why don't you choose one?' she suggested.
'Steady on, remember the dog,' Michael muttered
under his breath.
'Oh God,' Ellen mumbled.
'Shut up, Dad,' Robbie said. 'I'm not going to call him
Spot.'
'Oh, well there's a relief,' Michael commented. 'So
what do you want to call him?'
'Ummm, I know, what about Mervin?'
'Mervin!' Michael cried in disgust. 'I'm not calling him
Mervin.'
Robbie turned to Ellen, who wrinkled her nose and
gave a quick shake of her head.
'I know,' Robbie cried excitedly. 'Why don't we call
him Derrick after the ...'
'I'm not calling him Derrick either,' Michael declared.
Ellen leaned forward and whispered in Robbie's ear.
'Oh, yes, yes,' Robbie responded, clapping his hands
together. 'Let's call him ... what?' he said, twisting back
round to Ellen.
Michael glared at Ellen. 'This is cheating,' he accused.
Ellen was laughing as she whispered again.
'Galen?' Robbie repeated in a whisper.
She nodded.
'I never heard of that name,' Robbie said.
'Precisely. Whoever heard of such a ludicrous name,'
Michael agreed.
'It's Irish.' Ellen said.
'So's Connor and that's a much better name. Don't
you think?' he said to Robbie.
Robbie looked at the baby, then up at Ellen.
'Connor McCann,' Michael said, pushing it home. 'It's
got a great ring, don't you think? Not like Galen
McCann. That doesn't work at all. They'll call him Gay.
Or Len.'
The baby farted.
Robbie burst out laughing.
'See, even he agrees with me.' Michael insisted.
Ellen was laughing too. 'What do you think?' she said
to Robbie. 'Galen or Connor?'
'He's going to say Galen to keep you happy,' Michael
protested. 'Tell her you prefer Connor. It's a good name.'
'Do you prefer Connor?' Ellen asked him quietly.
Robbie looked up at her. 'I think so.' he said.
She smiled. 'Then Connor it is.' she declared, and they
all burst out laughing again as the baby let go a loud,
healthy burp, as though to endorse his brother's decision.

A little later in the day Michael's and Ellen's mothers
came to collect their two grandsons, while Michael,
though he desperately didn't want to, returned to the
office.
Since the shooting he'd barely seen anything of Ted
Forgon, wasn't sure if the man had sent Ellen any
flowers, or even remembered that there was a baby
involved. He couldn't see Forgon concerning himself
with such minutiae, but that was fine by Michael, as Ted
Forgon was the last person he wanted getting into his
family life. The question now, however, was how the
hell to get him out of his professional life.
The share aspect of World Wide aside, he needed to
look into the new contracts Forgon had drawn up for his
personal SWAT team to go in and screw up the movie
after he'd fired Vic Warren. Warren's was just one of
many lawsuits now pending following Forgon's interference,
though Michael believed he could persuade Vic
to withdraw his suit, except it would probably be under
the proviso that he managed to get Ted Forgon out of the
picture.
With the Colombian threat now taken care of there
was nothing standing in the way of the film's
completion, though Michael had been worried for a
while that Ellen might not want to carry on after what
she had been through. However, from the brief
discussions they'd already had, there seemed no doubt
in her mind that they must continue. It wasn't only that
they both still totally believed in the movie, it was also
the only way of saving their entire assets, not to mention
reputations. Though getting it all up and running again,
when actors, co-producers, assistant directors and even
the directors might already be committed elsewhere,
wasn't going to be easy.
However, Michael was at least going to try for the
same team; they knew the original script and most were
already way down the line in pre-planning and
spending. Hopefully most of that could be brought back
on track without too much trouble, or extra expense,
though he needed to find out how the financial picture
was now looking, since Forgon's band of cowboys had
appropriated the budget during those insane few days
before they'd been forced to stop.
But even more important than all the re-hiring and
firing that needed to be done was where Tom Chambers
now wanted to go with the movie. He still owned the
rights to the story, though the script, naturally, belonged
to World Wide. There was no question that it worked as
it stood, but because of all the recent publicity, Tom's
! latest experiences in Colombia needed to be
incorporated into the final scenes. And without his
permission - and co-operation - there was no way that
could happen.
Ten days ago Michael wouldn't have had any doubt
about Chambers's readiness to give all for the movie, but
now he wasn't so sure. With Galeano and Molina both
dead, and the Zapata boys in custody on charges that
included the rape and murder of Rachel Carmedi,
Chambers had the vindication he'd been seeking, so
what need did he now have of Hollywood and a movie?
If anything, he was probably much keener to get away
from the place, to move on with his life and finally put
Rachel's memory to rest. And Michael couldn't blame
him for that, since the pain he'd been carrying these past
four years had to come to an end some time, and there
was no getting away from the fact that now certainly
seemed like that time.
After spending three hours with his lawyers and
managing yet again to avoid Ted Forgon, Michael went
back to his car, and on a sudden impulse drove over to
the Four Seasons. He'd heard on the grapevine that
Chambers was back, had even been hoping he'd call,
though wasn't too surprised that he hadn't. He was
probably just planning on staying long enough to wrap
things up here before moving on out to the next war
zone or corrupt regime that needed exposing. Despite all
that had happened, Michael didn't feel good about him
leaving, especially not with the way things stood
between them now, nor when he knew how badly
Chambers must be feeling after the events of the past
week.
After getting the receptionist to announce him, he
rode up in the elevator and took a right turn down the
corridor to the room he'd been told. When he got there
he hesitated a moment, still not sure how he was going
to play this.
'Hey.' Chambers said, when he opened the door. 'How
are you? It's good to see you.'
'Good to see you too,' Michael responded, taking his
hand. He was immediately struck by the dark circles
around Chambers's eyes, and the apparent weight loss
that made him look both younger and older. Apart from
that, however, he seemed in pretty good shape for a man
who had just undergone the kind of ordeal he had.
He stood back for Michael to come in. 'Can I fix you a
drink?' he offered. There're most things here. How
about a Scotch, to wet the baby's head, or did you
already do that?'
'No, not yet,' Michael responded, certain there was no
bitterness in Chambers's tone, though he wouldn't have
blamed him if there were.
Chambers took a couple of miniatures from the mini
bar, then turning to face Michael he put the bottles down
and fixed him with dark, earnest eyes. 'You know, I
want to get this out of the way,' he said, pushing a hand
through his untidy hair. 'I mean, I'm not too good at this
sort of thing, but I want you to know that if there'd been
anything I could do, anything at all to change what Ellen
went through ... To have prevented it, even
Michael held up a hand. 'Let's not get into it,' he said.
'We both know you weren't to blame, for any of it, so
how about we just work on putting it behind us and cut
right to the celebration - not only for the baby, but for
the fact you managed to get yourself back in one piece.'
Chambers's grin was slow in coming. 'Now there's a
sentiment I never expected you to have,' he remarked,
and Michael could hear the relief in his laugh. 'In fact,'
he continued, 'when I boarded the plane in Bogota I got
the feeling I could be letting you down big time by not
getting myself bumped on to the Great Hereafter.'
Michael was laughing. 'Well, I won't deny there were
moments there when I wouldn't have minded if we'd
never met,' he confessed.
'Believe me, I felt so bad I wouldn't have minded
myself.' Chambers responded. 'So how is Ellen? Is she
doing OK?'
I 'She's doing great.' Michael answered. 'She should be
home on Saturday. The baby came home yesterday.'
Chambers smiled and turned for the drinks. 'A boy?'
he said.
'Yes.' Michael answered and watched him pour. God
only knew what he was feeling now, whether he was
disappointed, relieved, or even bitter that the baby
wasn't his but if it were anywhere near as bad as Michael
suspected, Michael could only admire how well he was
handling it.
'We're having a family dinner on Saturday night, if
Ellen does come home.' he said. 'Would you join us?'
Chambers looked at him in surprise, and felt himself
start to colour. 'Are you sure?' he asked.
Michael shrugged. 'Sure I'm sure. You kind of feel like
family, so it would be right for you to be there.'
Chambers touched his glass to Michael's. 'Then I'd
love to come.' he said.
Michael hesitated a moment, then decided to go ahead
with what had just occurred to him. 'Ellen's got
something to ask you.' he told him, hoping she was
going to agree to what he had in mind more readily than
she had agreed to a name for their son.
'Are you kidding?' she laughed, when Michael told
her, just before they were leaving their bedroom to go
and join the rest of the family on Saturday night. 'I can't
think of a better idea. You're a genius, my darling, and I
love you for coming up with it.'
Michael laughed and pulled her gently into his arms.
'You know what I thought you were going to say?'
she murmured, as he kissed her. 'I thought you were
going to get me to ask him if he'd carry on with the
movie.'
'Ah, well, he's got something to ask you about that.'
Michael responded, stroking her hair back from her face
and looking far into her eyes.
'Oh?' she said. 'So you two have already discussed it
and didn't tell me?'
'Kind of,' he said. 'Does this hurt?'
'No, you can hold me even tighter if you like,' she told
him.
Wrapping her more closely to him, he pressed his
mouth to hers and kissed her for a long, long time.
'Come on,' she said, finally, 'or we'll never get out
there.'
'Are we taking him?' Michael said, nodding towards
the cradle.
Ellen laughed. 'Oh God, I almost forgot,' she
confessed. 'I guess I'm just not used to him being around
yet.'
'You wait until three in the morning,' he warned her.
'You'll know you've got him then.'
'Oh and to be sure he was the one who got up.'
Clodagh said, coming in through the open door. 'We're
all waiting for you now, so come along with you. I'll
bring little Connor. Such a good idea to let Ellen and
Robbie choose the name, I dread to think what you'd
have come up with, Michael.'
Michael looked at Ellen and Ellen grinned.
An hour or so later they were all gathered around a
table next to the pool, candles flickering in the early
evening breeze, dish upon dish being transported back
and forth by Nina and Clodagh. Matty was at the foot of
the table, sitting with her Uncle Frank on one side of her
and Robbie the other, while Ellen, at the head of the
table, was between Michael and Tom. And for the brief
moments they allowed themselves to sit down Clodagh
and Nina were in the middle, Clodagh between her son
and grandson whom she regularly and happily scolded.
'You know, I can't tell you what a relief it is to see you
here,' Ellen said to Tom. 'None of us wanted you to go to
Colombia the way you did, and to be frank, we weren't
at all sure we were going to see you again.'
Chambers's eyebrows went up. 'Would have made a
great end for Forgon's movie,' he said.
Ellen grimaced and looked at Michael. 'We've got to
do something about that man,' she said.
'I'll make a note of it,' he responded.
Cutting him a look she turned back to Tom. 'I'm sorry
if I'm being dense here, but I'm not sure I understand
how Galeano died,' she said.
'Food poisoning,' Chambers answered. 'I know
Gomez would never admit it, but the minute we walked
into Galeano's cell and Gomez laid eyes on that chef, he
knew exactly who he was and what was going to
happen.'
'Do you think Gomez planted him there?' Matty
asked.
Chambers shook his head. 'No, that wouldn't be
Gomez's style. The guy was very probably from a rival
drug cartel, put there by one of Galeano's enemies to
stop him ever coming out.'
'And Gomez turned a blind eye?' Ellen said.
'I guess it's what you call Colombian justice,'
Chambers responded.
'Which'll probably be the South American version of
Clodagh's justice,' Michael responded, affecting an Irish
accent as he hugged his mother. 'So maybe we should
get you working in Forgon's kitchen, Ma? What do you
say?'
'I say you're a cheeky little blighter,' she replied. 'My
cooking never did away with anyone yet. But for certain
folk,' she added with a menacing glare at her son, 'it can
always be arranged. Now, what's been happening to the
wine? Did we run out?'
'No, Ma, you drank it all,' Michael told her.
'Michael!' Ellen laughed. 'Don't tease her and go get
some more.'
'. . . and then,' Robbie was saying to Ellen's dad, 'we
changed my bedroom all around, so that Connor's bed
can fit in there too, and afterwards Grandma couldn't
find any of my clothes. So then Grandma Nina came in
and they started playing on my computer and wouldn't
let me have a go.'
Frank was chuckling at Robbie's indignation. 'That's
women for you, son,' he told him. 'Get themselves all in
a confusion and go off doing something else while we
men sort it all out.'
'Did you hear that, Mom?' Ellen enquired.
'Oh, I heard all right,' Nina replied. 'And I'll lay
money Clodagh's got a good answer.'
Everyone looked at Clodagh. 'Well, we've got to
remember who won the war,' she said.
They all burst out laughing at the ludicrous non
sequitur, and raised their glasses to Clodagh. Then Ellen
tapped her plate with a fork and called for everyone's
attention. 'I have something to ask Tom,' she announced when everyone was quiet. She looked at Tom and
smiled, then turning to Michael she took hold of his
hand. 'Actually, we both have something to ask Tom.'
she corrected. 'Tom,' she said formally, 'Michael and I
would be honoured if you'd agree to stand as Connor's
godfather when it comes time for his christening. But a
quick warning,' she hastily added, 'if you accept, you
really will become family. And just look at them.'
Tom looked around the table. 'I can't think of a family
I'd rather belong to,' he confessed, 'or of a little boy I'd
rather have as a godson.'
'What about me?' Robbie wailed.
'It goes without saying you're his godson,' Michael
jumped in, certain he could square this with Michelle.
'Didn't you know that?'
'No,' Robbie answered. 'You don't tell me anything,
Dad.'
'Wait for the facts of life,' Matty advised. 'He'll be
happy to share those with you.'
'What are they?' Robbie said.
'They're something that fit rather snugly into
godfatherly duties,' Michael answered with a grin in
Tom's direction.
'Well it definitely won't be his grandfather,' Nina
sniggered, then pulled a face at the scowl she received
from her famously puritanical husband.
'OK, OK,' Tom said, tapping his glass for attention.
'My turn to ask something of Ellen now.'
'Do we all get a go at this?' Matty wanted to know.
'If we do, then I've got something to ask Michael,'
Clodagh responded.
'Do we want to know about this?' Ellen enquired.
'No, we certainly don't,' Michael responded. 'Over to
you, Tom.'
'Ellen,' Tom said, turning to face her, 'I want to ask
you if you'll write the end of the movie, according to
the facts I give you, and if you can do it without me, so
that I can get on with a life that's been on hold for too
long.'
'Oh my God!' Ellen cried, fumbling her glass back to
the table. 'Are you serious? Sure I'll do it. But it's your
movie, Tom. You should be here making sure we get it
right.'
He was shaking his head. 'I know you'll get it right,'
he answered. 'And if you come across any problems and
need to speak to me, the world's small enough now for
you just to pick up a phone and call.' He smiled at her
and lifted his glass. 'I don't know when you're going to
be strong enough to get back to work, but hopefully this
is something you can do at home for a while, while
taking care of my godsons here.'
Ellen leaned forward and taking his hands in hers she
kissed them hard. 'I'll do you proud,' she promised. 'I
swear, I'll do you proud.'
'Oh my, I think I'm going to cry,' Clodagh threatened,
reaching for a napkin.
Michael took it from her and dabbed his eyes. 'You
know, I hate to be a killjoy,' he said, as Ellen slapped
him, 'but there's just one problem. Ted Forgon. He's still
got a thirty per cent holding of World Wide and ever
since he got his hands on the controls of this movie ...
Well, I've got to tell you, from the talks I've been having
with the lawyers, we're going to have a pretty difficult
time getting him to back off.'
'If Chris Ruskin keeps voting in our favour, then
we've got nothing to worry about,' Ellen reminded him.
'I'd feel happier if I knew which way Sandy was going
to go,' Michael confessed. 'Do you know where she is?'
he asked Chambers. 'Has anyone heard from her yet?'
Chambers was shaking his head. 'I was going to ask
you the same question,' he said. 'I found an e-mail from
her that she sent just after she did the Larry King show,
but it didn't give any clue where she might be.'
'But surely, wherever she is, she's got to know by now
that the crisis is over,' Matty said.
Tom nodded thoughtfully. 'You're probably right,' he
said. 'Maybe she's just not ready to come back yet.'
Ellen looked at him curiously. 'You make that sound
as though you've got an inkling where she might be,' she
said.
'Mmm, I think I do,' he answered. 'I could be wrong,
but... Well, we'll see.'
Ellen smiled and turned back to Michael. It had come
over her very suddenly, the dizziness, and she didn't
want to make a fuss, but she had to leave now and she
didn't think she could do it without him.
One look at her face was enough to tell him what she
wanted, and getting behind her he helped her up from
her chair and joined in with her as she told the others not
to fuss.
A few minutes later they were lying together on their
bed, gazing down at their newly born son who was
sleeping between them.
'It's going to be all right.' she whispered, trying to
fight back the fear. 'I know it is. I just...'
'Ssssh.' he soothed. 'It's still early days.'
'We'll get through this,' she said.
'Of course we will.'
'Do you promise?'
He smiled and reached over to touch her face. 'I know
I've come pretty close a couple of times,' he said, 'but
have I ever let you down yet?'
'No,' she said, swallowing hard. 'I just hope to God
that I don't let you down.'
'If you'd called this boy Galen I might have been
worried.' he said, and she laughed.
Then, leaning over, he brought her mouth to his and
kissed her with such tenderness that tears came to her
eyes. Sure the next couple of months were going to be
tough, getting through an ordeal like this could never be
easy. But all that really mattered was that she was alive,
and that their love, despite everything, just seemed to
get stronger all the time.
Chapter 26

Night wouldn't be long now in settling over the wide,
sweeping landscape that glittered with every shade of
green, and basked under a sky of a hundred different
blues. All around hills rose from smooth, lush pastures
and plunged to the depths of rocky gorges, where
streams and rivers bubbled and gushed a journey to the
distant sea.
The afternoon had been warm, but as evening
approached and the sun began to fade, the temperature
was dropping fast and the wind was starting to bite.
Soon they would hear the whistle of ghostly gusts that
tore through the mountains at night, and the ageing
creak of trees bending to the force of the gale. Sandy's
guide, Colin, could identify almost every bird that called
in the night, and every one of those that sang by day,
along with all the living creatures that scuttled over the
hills and dales and the endless variety of shrub, plant
and tree that called this glorious place home.
Right at that moment though, as they strolled
unhurriedly over that small stretch of highlands back to
the house, Colin was in the midst of telling a joke, while
Sandy, used to his humour by now, was already
bubbling up with laughter.
'So,' he said, the earflaps on his hat bobbing as he
walked, and his eyes glowing like coals in the warm
hearth of their sockets, 'the architect's dog goes up to the
pile of bones, arranges them neatly, in a kind of Eiffel
Tower, then comes back to his master for praise.
Fantastic, say the others. Then the mathematician's dog
I goes up to the bones, arranges them in a straight line,
counts them, then goes back to his master for praise.
Amazing, say the others. Then the Hollywood
producer's dog goes up to the bones, crushes them to
powder, sniffs them up his nostrils, screws the other two
dogs, then asks for commission.'
Sandy burst out laughing, and carried on laughing as
he treated her to one of his drier expressions.
'Sounds like you know that dog,' he remarked.
Still laughing she said, 'I'll bet I know its owner. So
exactly how long were you in Hollywood?'
'Twenty-six years,' he answered. 'I was an agent, then
a producer, then I worked for the studios - then I got a
life.'
Sandy laughed again. 'How come you never
mentioned it before?'
'Because boasting about being a Hollywood producer
would be a bit like boasting you got ebola.' He grimaced.
'OK, I'm being harsh, but there's not a lot of reason to tell
anyone who I was, or what I did in my earlier life.
Besides, it was different back then, more about talent
and loyalty, not like today. Today it's all about deals;
who's making the biggest and fastest buck. There was no
way I could beat 'em, so I joined 'em for a while, made
myself a bundle, then came here to repair the abuse to
my soul.'
Sandy smiled. 'So did you know Ted Forgon?' she
asked, taking a set of earmuffs from her pocket and
hooking them on.
'I certainly knew of him,' Colin answered. 'He was
one of the big players even then, but I don't recall any
dealings with him personally.'
'You were lucky,' she remarked.
His irony made a return, for during their many long
and lively conversations these past two weeks he'd got
to hear quite a bit about Ted Forgon.
They walked on quietly for a while then, descending
the hill towards the small grey stone castle where orange
lights glowed a welcome at the windows and a Scottish
flag flapped from the turrets. By the time they reached
the door Sandy was laughing again, her cheeks red from
the cold, her eyes tearing up from the wind and mirth.
'Och, Sandy, your timing is scary,' Olivia said, as they
brought a cloud of cold air into the large, flagstoned hall,
which was home to a discreet reception area, several
French antiques and an enormous log fire that was
currently crackling and roaring in the magnificent
hearth. Olivia, Colin's rotundly pretty wife, was holding
on to the phone while trying to bat away the cat that was
making a languorous inspection of the desk. 'There's a
call for you, dear,' she told Sandy.
Sandy's heart immediately jumped.
'Will I put it through to your room, or would you like
to take it here?' Olivia offered.
Sandy was nonplussed. Though no-one knew she was
here, she was well aware that the only person who was
likely to guess would be Tom. She wondered if,
subconsciously, she'd been waiting for him to find her,
but that was absurd, she was ready to go back now, had
even told Olivia and Colin that she'd be leaving at the
end of the week.
'Are you going to take it?' Olivia asked, leaning over
the desk for her husband's dutiful kiss as he passed.
'Who is it?' Sandy asked.
Olivia smiled and Sandy's heart turned over.
So it was Tom.
Taking the receiver, she held it in both hands and
watched Olivia follow Colin through to the kitchens.
As the door closed behind them her heart tightened
again. This was a call she'd been dreading, as well as
longing for, ever since she'd arrived. It seemed suddenly
strange that it was upon her, and though she'd
rehearsed what she might say a hundred times, she
knew even before she spoke that all her preparations
had been in vain.
'Hello,' she said.
'Well hi,' he responded. 'I was beginning to think you
weren't talking to me.'
She smiled. 'I've been looking forward to talking to
you.' she told him.
'Now that's good to hear. Are you OK?'
'Yes. How are you?'
He paused. 'In need of a friend.'
Sandy's smile wavered, as she sucked in her lips.
'Will you see me? If I come?' he asked.
Her eyes closed as warm emotions swept through her.
'Where are you?' she said.
'At Heathrow. I can fly up there tomorrow.'
'Then I'll tell Colin and Olivia to expect you,' she said.

It was just before lunch when Sandy finally spotted his
rental car coming along the narrow winding lane
towards the Retreat. Beneath her carefully cultivated
calm she was a thousand times more nervous than she'd
care to admit, but she was keeping it under control by
insisting vigorously to herself that she really was ready
for this. It wasn't going to be easy, she knew that, but
few things were.
Colin was behind the reception desk, sorting out
paperwork, when she ran down the wide oak staircase
into the hall.
'He's here,' she said.
Colin looked up and smiled. Then, coming round the
desk, he gave her a giant hug. 'You're going to be just
fine,' he promised.
She nodded, swallowed hard and put on her bravest
smile. He was right, of course, but keeping her courage
forward was going to be tough. Easier now, though,
than it would have been before she came here, and
because of the subtle and tremendous changes it had
wrought in her, she understood why Tom had taken
refuge at the Retreat so many times himself.
He knew Colin and Olivia well. They had helped him
through some of his bleakest, most despairing moments
during the turbulent months after Rachel's death, buoying
him with their quiet strength and infinite kindness.
They would never call themselves counsellors, nor did
they welcome any such labels as spiritualists or healers,
they simply liked to think of themselves as friends. But
they were much more than that, for the way they shared
their view on the world, and on life, was so enriching to the soul and inspiring to the mind that it was impossible
to go away from here unchanged for the better.
They saw everything life delivered, whether good or
bad, as a means of measuring courage or appreciation;
or perhaps as a reassurance of existence, or an exercise
in endurance; almost always it would involve a
strengthening of character, and an often necessary
levelling of ego. They never preached or advised, nor
did they lay claim to any special affinity with God; they
simply welcomed their friends, and friends of friends,
with warm, open hearts, and a wry irreverence that was
as rewarding to be a part of as the tranquillity and
seclusion of this wild terrain.
Perhaps two weeks wasn't long enough to effect all
the changes she'd have liked, or felt she needed, but she
was sure some of the more important ones were taking
place - those that were going to help her to experience
and explore her life much more fully and less fearfully
than she had before. She was now beginning to understand
the reasons behind her desperate attachment to
Michael, her piteous search for love and acceptance, that
had come from her feelings of inferiority and lack of selfesteem.
It was as though she had needed Michael, then
Tom, to validate her existence, to give her a place in the
world she didn't feel worthy of alone. Until now she'd
had no appreciation of herself, nor of her success, hadn't
understood at all who she was, or why she should
matter. All she'd known was the anger and bitterness
that was locked up inside her, the self-pity and
resentment that had driven her to inflict injury and
malice on those who refused to recognize and accept
her. She'd been all twisted up in knots of jealousy over
Ellen, whom everyone seemed to love, and who made
her feel so inadequate and unattractive. She realized
now that it was her own mind that had created these
problems, that she had allowed her ego to set up
defences and hostilities that had no need to be there, for
only she saw herself as undeserving and meaningless, so
only she could do something to change that.
In fact, it was Tom who had first tackled her warped
and damaging view of herself and set it on the right
track. He had done so in many subtle as well as obvious
ways, like taking the kind of interest in her that no-one
had much bothered with before; getting her to feel good
and right about herself after all the disastrous flirtation,
thinly veiled prostitution, and heavy-duty desperation.
She realized now that one of the reasons he had never
slept with her was because he didn't want her to use her
body to befriend him - he wanted her to understand that
she was worth knowing as a woman first, a woman of
many more qualities and much greater depth than just
those of a lover.
Of course, the other reason he had resisted her was
because he didn't love her, but though it hurt to know
that, she was up to dealing with it now. At least, she
certainly hoped she was, because his car was drawing
up outside, and though she'd worked hard trying to
persuade herself these past two weeks that she only thought she was in love with him, underneath it all she
was still a long way down the road to believing it was
the truth. After all, he was an extraordinary man, with
such complexity of character and so many great qualities
that even Olivia agreed it would be very hard not to love
him.
Giving Colin a last quick hug, she took a glance in the
mirror at the simple jeans and big sweater she had
chosen, then went to open the door. A blast of icy wind
barged past her and rearranged Colin's desk on its way
to the hearth. Hurriedly she pulled the door closed, then
seeing Tom walking round the car, she broke into a
smile and ran across the forecourt to greet him.
'Hey, look at you!' he cried, catching her up in his
arms and spinning her round. 'You look great. The cold
weather obviously suits you.'
'Oh, it's so wonderful to see you,' she told him,
hugging him hard and looking up into his laughing face. "I can hardly believe you're here.'
He grinned. 'It's a great place to get me to come find
you,' he responded. 'Are you planning on staying for
good?'
'I'm leaving at the end of the week,' she answered,
slipping an arm round his waist as they walked back to
the house. 'I've thought about you such a lot - I was so
scared for you, terrified that you might never come back
and if you did that you might never forgive me. But now
you're here, and I'm going to tell you right out that I
don't have a single regret about what I did.'
He was laughing. 'Well, I'm sure glad to hear that,' he
told her, 'because there's not much doubt it saved my
life and I wouldn't want you to be regretting that.'
Her eyes were sparkling as she looked up at him, then,
giving in to the urge, she hugged him again. 'Are you
hungry?' she said. 'Olivia's got some soup on the go, and
guess who baked bread this morning?'
'No!' he said incredulously.
'Well, I had to do something, I was so nervous about
seeing you,' and letting go of his hand she skipped on
ahead to open the door.
'They're looking forward to seeing you,' she said,
turning back. 'Colin's threatening to bring out one of his
best wines for dinner tonight - if you're staying.'
His eyes were dancing, but before he could reply the
door opened and Olivia came out. 'Tom Chambers!' she
cried, pulling him into her plump embrace. 'It's been far
too long, and what have you been up to in Colombia, we
want to know. Oh, look at you, you gorgeous thing, if
Colin knew what you did to my heart he'd never let you
over the threshold.'
'There's no fool like an old fool, is there?' Colin
remarked, standing his wife aside so that he could shake
Tom's hand. 'Welcome, my friend,' he said, looking
warmly into Tom's eyes. 'It's good to see you.'
Tom was laughing. 'I've got to tell you, it's good to see
you too, but after the Colombian and Californian
sunshine I'm freezing my whatsits off here.'
'It's you, Colin, blocking the way,' Olivia scolded,
shoving him aside so that Sandy and Tom could go
through.
'Do you have any luggage?' Colin asked.
'Nothing to speak of,' Tom answered.
Though Sandy's smile remained, her spirits sank. He
obviously wasn't planning to stay.
'I hope you're hungry,' Olivia said. 'We've all been
preparing for your arrival. And if you can bear to tell us
what happened in Colombia, Colin might be persuaded
to dig out one of his better vintages right away to help us
along. On the other hand, you two might not want any
company,' she added, looking at Sandy.
Tom looked at Sandy too.
'Oh no,' she said, colouring, 'let's all eat together.
Then maybe you and I can go for a walk later,' she said
to Tom.
'Sounds good to me,' he said, putting an arm around
her. 'So where's this soup? I'm starving.'
Though the sun was bright it was still bitterly cold as
they climbed over the huge grey boulders that cluttered
the path, high above the loudly gushing river, and way
below the soaring mountain peaks. Sandy, complete
with earmuffs and woollen gloves, was zipped snugly
inside a down-filled jacket, while Tom considered himself
pretty cool in Colin's snazzy old deerstalker and fur
lined duffel. Since he'd tied the earflaps under his chin
and buttoned the coat right to his neck, Sandy couldn't
look at him without laughing. Nor could she properly
hear him as he shouted directions above the roar of the
water. But it didn't matter, she knew the way to the cave,
she'd walked there many times with Colin or Olivia.
When at last they reached it, it provided a welcome
relief from the biting wind and partially muted the
deafening rush of the river. The view from the cave's
entrance was stupendous, for it looked right down over
the fir-studded valley which rose again in the distance to
yet more snow-capped mountains and a stunningly
azure sky. There was nothing, in all those wondrous
miles, that showed a single touch of human creation,
and as they gazed at the beauty Sandy couldn't help
being aware of its timelessness, and felt a quiet
exhilaration moving through her - an exhilaration that
was gently weighted with awe.
'You know,' Tom said, slipping an arm round her
shoulders, 'this is one of my favourite places in the
world.'
'Mmm,' she responded, resting her head on his
shoulder. 'I can understand why.' She paused, then
spoke again. 'Standing here like this makes you realize
how small and irrelevant we are, don't you think? Or
how briefly we're here, while these mountains, this
landscape go on for ever, seeing everything there is to
see and enduring everything there is to endure.'
He smiled and hugged her. 'Do you want to sit
down?' he said after a while. He was already taking a
blanket from his backpack, and the flask of coffee Olivia
had made.
'Here, I'll pour,' Sandy said, taking the flask.
They were soon huddled cosily up against a rock,
steaming mugs of coffee cupped in their hands, the walls
of the cave curving round them like a huge protective
shell. Outside the elements were battering the world,
while inside the air was dank and earthy and soothingly
still.
'You know, I don't want anyone else in the world to be
here,' she said, watching the birds soar and dive on the
speeding currents of air, 'but I wish there were some kind
of magical camera that would swoop down now to take a
picture of us like this.' She turned to look at him, and
started to laugh. 'We, at least you, look so ridiculous.'
He grinned widely and drank some more coffee.
She did the same and settled back against the rock. 'So
tell me about Ellen,' she said, after a while. 'I know she's
home from the hospital, but how is she, you know, in
herself?'
'Good question,' he answered, his eyes losing focus as
he thought. 'I didn't realize how touch and go it was
there for a while, until Michael told me, but she seems to
be pulling through. At least physically she is, but I think
they've still got some way to go on other fronts. Michael
told me just before I left that she's started getting bad
dreams, you know, about the car going over, and losing
the baby and Kris being dead. Apparently she's not too
keen on going out of the house either, at least not
without Michael. Her parents are still there, but they're
leaving next week.'
'What about Clodagh?'
'She's staying. She's moving into the apartment
attached to the house. I think the plan is, six months in
England with her daughter and grandkids there, then
six months in LA with Michael and Ellen - and my two
godsons.'
Sandy turned to look at him.
He waggled his eyebrows and sipped his coffee.
'Congratulations,' she said. 'I take it the other one is
Robbie?'
He nodded. 'Though I don't think Michelle's been
consulted yet.'
'Well, I can't see her having a problem with it.' Sandy
remarked. 'What did they call the baby, by the way?'
'Connor. He's a cute little thing. Doesn't do much
except cry and sleep, but he can produce a pretty mean
fart when he's up to it, much to Robbie's delight.'
Sandy laughed. 'I'm sorry to hear that Ellen's having
some problems,' she sighed after a pause. 'I suppose it
was only to be expected though. I mean, it was a terrible
thing to happen.'
He turned to look at her. 'Michael tells me you saw it.'
She nodded. 'Most of it.' Her head went down. 'It was
horrible. I've never been so afraid in my life, so I can't
even begin to imagine what it was like for her. Just thank
God she came out of it alive. And the baby, of course.'
Putting her cup down, she hugged her knees to her chest
and gazed out at the hills. 'I was wondering,' she said.
'How did you feel when you found out the baby wasn't
yours? Were you upset? I mean, did you want it to be?'
He laughed drily, and sucked in his lips. 'The truth is,
a part of me did, yes.' he answered. 'But I'm glad for
Michael and Ellen that it wasn't.' He sighed. 'I kind of
figured that if I'm ever going to have one, then it might
be better if it weren't with another man's wife.'
Sandy smiled, and moved her thoughts away from the
dangerous ground they were approaching.
'So what's next for you?' he asked, reaching for more
coffee.
'Me?' she said, surprised. 'Well, I'm going back to
London on Friday, where I imagine there's a mountain
of work waiting for me, and where I need to be to get all
my new plans in motion.'
'Oh?' he said, intrigued.
'Tell me,' she said, turning to him and resting a cheek
on her knees, 'have you and Michael made any decisions
about the movie yet?'
'Sure,' he nodded. 'He's going to carry on.' He
laughed as she made an exaggerated collapse of relief.
'I'm sorry,' she said, 'I know you don't want it to be
about money, but all the people who gave us so much...'
'It's OK,' he said. 'And it's me who should be
apologizing. I should have been more understanding.'
She smiled, then lowered her eyes.
'Of course, there are a few minor complications that
have to be sorted,' he said, 'like licking Ted Forgon into
shape, and dealing with the stack of lawsuits the
company's facing. But Michael's optimistic he can get it
back on line.' He paused, and waited for her eyes to
come back to his. 'I know what you did with the shares.'
he said softly. 'How you gave them to Ellen so she could
vote with Michael, so you could help save the kids and
maybe still salvage something of your career. So I've got
to tell you, I'm real sorry about the way I got mad at you
for not coming right out with the commitment I wanted.
I guess I just wasn't being rational.'
Sandy's lips flattened as she looked away. 'And I
wasn't being so honourable,' she confessed. She looked
at him again. 'I don't expect Ellen told you about the
condition attached to those shares?'
He frowned and shook his head.
'The deal was that she told Michael the baby was his.
In other words . . .' She stopped, and dropped her eyes
again. 'Well, you know what I'm saying,' she said.
Putting a finger under her chin, he lifted her head up.
'Don't be too hard on yourself,' he said softly.
Feeling her heart turn over, she smiled and looked to
one side. Then, wanting to get past her shame, she
reached for her cup and held it out for more coffee.
'So, did you find it helpful being here with Colin and
Olivia?' he asked after he'd poured.
'Helpful?' she laughed. 'I'm only feeling like a
completely different person, and one I could even get to
quite like. Though how long I'm going to be able to keep
up all these good feelings and generosity of spirit once I
get back to the cut and thrust of London, God only
knows. I can see myself ending up coming back here for
monthly, if not weekly fixes. I wonder if they do phone
ins?'
He was laughing. 'Believe me, a little bit of Colin and
Olivia goes a very long way, so you'll probably do a lot
better than you think.'
She didn't look convinced, but grinned when he
poked her. She rested a cheek on her knees again and
looked into his eyes as she wondered whether to broach
the subject his comment had brought to her mind, that of
Salvador Molina and the revenge Tom had sworn he
would take. It seemed that not even Colin and Olivia
had been able to dissuade him from that, and with
Molina now dead and so many mixed reports coming
out of the killing, she was curious to know what really
had happened, and how troubled, or not, he might be.
He was quiet for a long time after she finally asked
him, a wry, though thoughtful expression on his face as
he assimilated the truth of his answer. 'You know,' he
said, after a while, 'I keep thinking I should feel bad
about what I did, but I just can't say I do. I shot the man's
balls off, I stood there and watched him bleed and
twitch, and scream in agony, and I didn't feel a single
moment of remorse. And if I had it all to do over again?'
He shrugged. 'I'd do exactly the same. Next time, I
might even kill him.'
'I'm glad you left that to somebody else,' she said
quietly. 'I could be wrong, but I don't think you'd find
that so easy to live with.'
'Maybe not,' he agreed.
She wanted to ask him about Rachel, and if Molina's
and Galeano's deaths had changed anything in the way
he was dealing with that now, but guessing it was
probably still too early for him to know, she decided to
leave it. 'So what's next for you?' she said. 'You're
carrying on with the movie.'
He shook his head. 'Not me,' he answered. 'I've left
Ellen with all my notes so she can rewrite the end, which
works for her, since it means she can be at home with the
boys, and Michael's bringing in another exec, producer
to cover.'
'So what are you going to do?' she said, forcing the
words past the dread of his answer.
'Me? I guess you could say I'm shipping on out.'
Though her heart twisted, her eyes managed to show
nothing but interest. 'To where, and to do what?' she
asked, teasingly.
He inhaled deeply. 'Well, I'm booked on a flight to
Karachi tomorrow night,' he answered. 'Michelle and
Cavan are still in the Afghan refugee camps in the north
of the country, so I'm going to catch up with them there.
Then I thought I'd give war and turmoil a rest for a
while, and visit some exotic lands and curious cultures.
The Indonesian or South Sea islands, maybe. I don't
know, I guess I'll firm up a decision once I'm over that way.'
Though Sandy was still smiling, she didn't, for the
moment, trust herself to speak - she was too afraid that her voice might falter on the terrible loss that was
already building inside her. But this was no more than she had expected, was precisely what she had feared, so she must just make herself accept it and move on.
'So what are these plans you've got for when you
return to London?' he asked.
'Ah, those,' she said, allowing her eyes to shine. 'I'll need to talk to Michael first, but I've got to tell you, no matter how wonderful and considerate and forgiving being here has made me feel inside, I'm still not


anywhere near a place where I can stomach Ted Forgon.'
He laughed. 'So?' he prompted.
'So, I've been thinking about it and I reckon Michael
and I can go one of two ways. We can either bounce the
old sod around a bit, keep voting him down and kicking
out all his suggestions, which, I've got to tell you, I
favour, because it'll provide me with the ongoing
pleasure of watching him froth at the mouth and run
round in circles of rage and frustration: or we can work
on a way of throwing him out of World Wide altogether.
For that, we'll almost certainly need the support of the
movie's investors, but I don't see too much of a problem
there. We'll have to speak to the company lawyers,
obviously, but I've got the makings of something
devastating worked out, I just need them to make it
legal'
He gave a shout of laughter. 'You're not a woman to
be messed with, Sandy Paull,' he told her.
'And don't you forget it,' she warned darkly.
Her eyes went down then, as the prospect of his
impending departure, and a future that was already
moving them in different directions, stole over her in a
horrible, swamping wave. She leaned back against the
rock so that he could no longer see her face and tried to
tell herself that this wasn't as bad as it felt, but the ache
in her heart wouldn't be moved.
In the end she was the first to break the silence, though
it took several attempts to push the words past the pain,
and make them strong enough to be heard. And even
then the emotion was catching so hard on her heart, it
was as though it was trying to pull the words back. 'I
know ... I know you don't love me,' she finally
managed, 'but I hope we can always be friends.'
She waited, keeping her eyes fixed to the ground and
hardly daring to breathe as the seconds ticked by. Then
she felt him reaching for her hand, and turning her to
face him he looked far into her eyes. 'Mee too,' he
whispered.
He continued his gaze, and as she returned it she felt
an ocean of tears rise from her heart. Then she found
herself laughing at how silly he looked in that hat, and
the tears overflowed. Oh God, he really was such a very,
very special man and this was so very much harder than
she'd expected.
He smiled and waited for her to look at him again,
then leaning forward he put his mouth gently over hers.
Her lips trembled, then a sob suddenly escaped from all
the emotion that was caught in her chest. But it was OK.
Everything was all right. She accepted that he didn't
love her, she truly did - she just hoped that one day
someone might.