All the Rage (18 page)

‘Your father then? '

‘No, none of us has that rare talent. My father writes poetry, my mother, well, she acts as a childminder for Manuella now. She used to be a beautician. Why do you ask? '

‘Simply conversation. ' He shrugged. He casually picked up a threadbare rag doll from the sofa and held it, smiling to himself.

‘Signor Cielo,' Antonia said, explaining, ‘That's Mr Heaven. '

‘Isn't it supposed to be a little girl? '

She smiled and gently took it from him, ‘Yes, but we haven't the heart to correct Manuella as yet. '

Michael moved toward the door. ‘Good luck, Antonia. I sincerely hope you find what you are looking for. '

‘I will. ' They kissed a final farewell.

 

***

 

Down on the street, Michael breathed in the early night air. It had been suffocating in the apartment. Whilst talking with Antonia, his eyes had inadvertently wandered along the wooden shelves fixed between the two window encasements in the sitting room. They contained an array of musty books, some pottery, a pretty spiked-leafed plant, candles, a silver framed family photograph of her mother cuddling Manuella…and, strangely, a bottle of Liquin.

Recalling this last item had made him catch his breath. Liquin was a substance used for improving the flow and transparency of oil paint. It was a medium used only by artists, usually professional artists.

He couldn't help but think he had been duped. Once more.

 

***

 

He ate badly. He slept fitfully. Venice was for lovers, not middle-aged men on a mission of redemption. What was he thinking, being here? What was he trying to accomplish? Alone, he was deficient of energy and good thoughts. He now felt as low as he could possibly go. Ghosts of the past were one thing. Those who inhabited the future were entirely different. These were by their very nature unpredictable. And hostile.

Sleep was overtaking him. Engulfed by blackness, he remembered Antonia's words, ‘
I have been expecting you.
'

I have been expecting you.
The words sent a shiver racing through his veins. Had he been duped on a far greater scale than he could ever have imagined? What did these words mean? Only one person knew of his every movement, the only person that he confided in, in all matters: his secretary, Kara.

What the hell was he to make of all this?

Chapter Eleven

 

He was so incensed with Adele that, on his return from Italy, Michael drove straight to their country house in Bedfordshire to confront her. He was sick and tired of the lies that manifested themselves straight from her mouth, and it needed sorting. She was destroying everything in her path: their marriage; their business; their very existence. These were matters central to his life. If John Fitzgerald was worth all that sacrifice, then she needed to hear it straight, how it really was. No holds barred. In Michael's opinion, Adele could find a deep hole and crawl into it, never to return. Such was his contempt for her he didn't announce his arrival with a courtesy call beforehand. Instead, he banged on the front door with a heavy fist.

Opening the door, Adele's eyes widened, startled to find Michael standing there. He felt a rage contort his features, and she saw it.

‘Michael. What has happened? Why are you here? ' She stood back, holding a protective hand to her chest.

‘Expecting John, were you? ' Michael spat the words, pushing himself past her and into the hallway. His eyes darted in all directions, searching for tangible evidence of another man's presence: a pair of shoes next to the sofa, a jacket thrown over the back of a chair. He knew she would be too clever for that. He shot the question anyway, ‘Perhaps he's here already? '

‘No he isn't! Have you been drinking? ' She sounded frightened.

‘Possibly. Have you been having botox? '

‘If you are going to just insult me, I think you should go right away…now! '

‘Adele, just shut up. Just bloody well shut up. What's going on between you and that bastard, John? '

‘This is not the time to discuss
–
'

‘This is
still
my damn house. '

‘I'm well aware of it. '

He turned on her, moving closer. ‘Tell me, dammit! What is going on between the two of you? '

‘I don't know, if you want the truth, Michael. What do you want me to say? '

‘Are you in love with him? '

Adele sniggered. ‘What is love? Of course I'm very fond of him, he pays me attention, he cares for me, he treats me like a woman. '

‘Well, if it isn't love, then what the fuck are you playing at, destroying both our lives and our future together? What about Toby? Have you thought about him? Are you going to tell him his precious mother is an unfaithful slut, or shall I? '

Her eyes widened further. ‘Michael, he already knows! '

‘
Whaaaat
? ' Michael reeled back and clattered into the imposing oak sideboard, dislodging a row of porcelain plates displayed on the shelves.

Adele tried to calm him.

‘Christ, Michael, everybody knows. When did you last speak to Toby? You live your life down a blind alley. Because you're so fucking busy, you never just look around to see what anyone else is doing. ' Adele attempted to straighten the plates. ‘I am unhappy, Michael. Can't you see that? '

‘And
he
makes you happy? '

‘Yes. Yes. Yes. More to the point, it was you who stopped me from being happy in our relationship. It's not rocket science. He came along and filled the void, but I don't expect you to grasp what I'm trying to tell you. Listen to my words. '

‘It's that straightforward, eh? '

‘It's never that simple. Just reality…it happens. '

‘How has Toby taken it? '

‘You really want to know, Michael? The truth, that is? He saw it coming years ago. Why do you think he moved to New York? It was to get as far away from the tension in our marriage. He wanted to make his own way in life, rather than be forced to work alongside us. '

‘Jesus. '

‘You have been running away from everyone and everything for years, Michael, including those closest to you. Toby hated what he saw in us. '

He felt lost. ‘When did you stop loving me? '

‘I have
never
stopped loving you. ' Adele tried to reach out, but he took evasive action, turning his back on her, and thumped the wall with both fists.

‘Why are you so angry with everyone? ' she asked.

‘Because…' But then words failed him.

‘Michael, I am not stupid. Over the past years of our marriage, I know there've been other women in your life. Not serious, but enough to threaten what we had. Now the tables are turned. '

Momentarily lost for words, he was taken aback by Adele's confidence. It took a few seconds to catch his breath, before he muttered, ‘What can you possibly see in him? '

‘More than you think. He's the man you used to be. In the end, a wife gets fed up playing second fiddle and I want to feel special once again. Emotionally, you can't do that for me anymore. You're no longer there, consumed instead with business matters, which never seem to go away. I guess I'm exhausted with it all. Michael, I know it's hard. '

He laughed aloud. ‘Hard? Are you aware of just how close we are to bankruptcy? '

‘Of course, I do the bloody books, remember? It isn't that bad. '

He went on the attack, ignoring her last comment. ‘When you asked for a divorce, Adele, did it not occur to you that your very actions would be tantamount to pulling me apart limb from limb? '

‘That's an exaggeration. You get to keep the galleries, the apartment, the income…'

‘What income! By the time you take your half share of the profits, this house, the place in Marbella, what do you think the value of the company will be, after I'm remortgaged up to the hilt? The Shoreditch gallery is failing and business in the West End is crap. It's too damned easy for you to take the fucking money and run, leaving me with the broken pieces to put back together again. You'll bleed the business dry with your ridiculous demands. Whatever I'm left with will not be sustainable and I will not be able to survive. Happy with that? '

‘You will
always
fall on your feet, Michael. '

‘Is that so? ' He paced the hallway. ‘Then I have a proposal for you, one that should appeal to your sense of justice and fair play. Listen carefully. You get to keep the fucking business and I will take the money. We are business partners, if you remember. Fifty-fifty it says on the tin. If you are so confident of the gallery succeeding, then you put your name to it, and I'll lie in the sun. But you'll soon come running. '

Adele's brave demeanour crumpled like a crashed car. ‘Are you serious? '

‘Absolutely. Do you have a problem with that? '

‘I need to consult with my solicitor. You know we can't discuss these matters. '

He knew she had been caught on the hop.

‘You discuss everything you need to with your solicitor. But you know what, Adele? At the end of the day, you haven't got the bloody balls for it. You talk a good story, but behind the scenes, there isn't the courage, expertise or gumption to do anything about it. '

‘Get out…
now
! '

Michael was in full steam. ‘You're pathetic, Adele. I know your game, your little plan. Don't think that I'm not watching over your shoulder, because I know every dirty trick you're trying to pull, including tampering with the computer files. Just remember, if I go down, you go down. You need this business to survive, just as I need it to. You say you're my equal, so here is your golden opportunity to prove you can do the job. The prospect of success is almost beyond a joke. You'd be finished within a year. '

‘Please, please go. '

He put his face close to hers, and spat the words, ‘A real pleasure. Think on what I've said. You always lived in my shadow, Adele. And do you know why? I'll enlighten you, because at the end of the day, you had nowhere else to go to and hide behind. You had nothing to offer anyone. Not then. Not now. Being with me just fed your ego. Beyond that, you are of no consequence. '

Adele fumed. ‘I'll see you in court. I'll get what I'm entitled to, you'll see. The law's on my side. '

Michael turned on his heels and made for his car. ‘You'll get what you are entitled to; I'll make sure of that. Take my challenge, I just dare you. I'll take the botox. '

 

***

 

Kara had made excellent progress with the Traffic Division of the Greater London Council. A very nice and accommodating young man listened to her tale of woe on the telephone, which was, in essence, a complete cock and bull story from beginning to end. She almost fluttered her eyelids as she spoke.

She needed to fabricate a story which he had to have empathy with, or else her ploy would soon fall down. Her plan involved deception, which meant she would never go to heaven and meet Brad Pitt. Oh, well, putting that aside…she carefully explained to this guy that over the past month there had been a spate of attempted break-ins at the gallery. More a case of mindless vandalism, she added, but it scared her, being the only girl on the premises etc, etc. On four occasions now, she emphasised to him, one of the small glass panels in the entrance had been smashed. Therefore, every time she organised a glazier to repair the damage, lo and behold a few days later, the glass was broken again. She sighed helplessly, telling him the police were useless, undermanned, and far too busy to consider her plight. In addition, the cost of repair was down to the gallery, owing to the excess on the insurance policy. In other words, there was no one to help, no one to care…no one to assist a damsel in distress…
unless
. Then she waited, breathlessly…

Minutes ticked by. Eventually, he came back to her, and gallantly agreed that something could be done. His superiors had given the nod. He went on to state that it was not normal practice to use council property in this way, but it was possible, in exceptional circumstances, to use the camera sparingly, within a certain time frame. He would need to speak to the local police, for final approval. His suggestion was for the camera to be swivelled onto the gallery entrance each day for five days between the hours of 6am and 9am. It was the best he could offer at such short notice.

Bingo. Kara stressed just what a knight in shining armour he was. She gushed a little bit further, just to make sure he wouldn't think of letting her down, then made her excuses (‘so much glass to sweep up! ') to terminate the conversation before she was found out as a fraudster, and sent to the Tower. His name was Kevin, she discovered. Hmm, there was a certain ring to it: Kevin and Kara. God, she was good at this deception lark. She even teased him to believe in the delusion that he could order the windscreen vinyl nameplate for his racy Ford Fiesta, now that they had become an item. Dream on, Kevin. Oh, how she hated herself for such cruelty. Needs must.

Kevin promised to get back to her within two hours, and bless him, he did. From tomorrow morning, he explained, they had action stations. More seriously, Kara felt reassured that she was able to contribute towards discovering who was behind the mystery envelopes found on the doorstep. She felt threatened and intimidated, even though they had not been personally addressed to her. Kevin slipped from her mind.

Somebody was playing a strange game. Although effectively outside the loop, Kara increasingly felt a danger in the air, and, more scarily, an unseen hand drawing her closer in. This, frankly, terrified her. In order to understand it, she would need to learn how to fight. And fast.

And where was Michael when you needed him? What was going on? This little separation, with him gallivanting abroad, was making her feel vulnerable. He was acting impulsively, and irrationally, in her opinion. All was wrong in the world ever since he had first made contact with Lauren and her unique madness; it was as if he too had been possessed with some kind of sickness. And that was the nearest to the truth that she could find. It
was
madness. Lauren had somehow infiltrated his mind and infected it. Christ. What kind of a person could do this?

More worryingly, Michael had spoken to Kara with regard to the forthcoming inventory of the Patrick Porters. He wanted
her
to do it
.
He wanted
her
to travel down to Laburnum Farm
. On her own!
Was he truly thinking straight, or was he showing serious signs of psychosis? Much more alarmingly, she had stupidly agreed to this request.

She needed aspirin. She needed an arm to comfort her. She
needed
words of tenderness. Above all, she needed a knife.

 

***

 

When Kara eventually saw Michael, she was mortified. She almost mistook him for a tramp when he came into the gallery.

‘Michael, you look absolutely terrible. Where have you been? '

‘Fighting it out with a rottweiller, and I think I probably lost. ' He was unkempt and unshaven, and couldn't recall what exactly had happened after his confrontation with Adele. He
thought
he had slept in the car overnight.