Crimson (35 page)

“I can’t do that … I don’t know how you’re going to get it, but you know how deep the shit will be if you don’t produce at least a hundred thousand pounds…”

After replacing the receiver, Adam stared through the French windows to the terrace, drumming his fingers on the desk. He tugged his hair over his left eye, then jerked his head to flip it back: a gesture that revealed his anxiety. He smoked a cigarette, sucking hard at it. Finally he called Johnny Briar, a member of his insurance syndicate at Lloyd’s.

“What’s the news? It can’t get much worse, old boy,” Johnny said.

“We’ve had unbelievable bad luck. We seem to be the only syndicate that’s involved in all three natural disasters. American Insurance Services have just released final estimates on the Chile earthquake. Of course, we reinsured for a cut of the premiums, but we’ll still stand to lose well over, sixteen million dollars. No final figures yet on the American tom ado

“And the tidal wave in Pakistan?” “They reckon it killed sixteen thousand people.” Eventually Adam asked, “How soon will we know our final loss esT “It looks like an open year. No money will be paid to members for three years,”, Johnny said, “and probably a further call after that. Frankly, this’ll clean me out. I’ll have to sell the house.”

Adam cursed. The famous Lloyd’s unlimited liability probably meant that Adam would also be declared bankrupt.

“How long will they wait for payment?” “You know Lloyd’s don’t wait, old boy. It’s cash on the nail as soon as the arbitrators reach a settlement the 9s reputation stands on that.” Johnny added, “It’s not messing with Lloyd’s, Adam, you know it isn’t: no one would ever touch you again Lloyd’s would see to that.”

Adam’s next call was to Ned Sinclair, financial director Of SUPPLY KITS With an effort, Adam steadied his voice.

“Ned? I want you to take another look at that new” Carefree proposal the duty-free airport shops. I know they’re asking more than we want to pay, but if we can assemble a package of cash, stock options, and newly issued shares as a good inducement, I think we’ll convince the key manager and he’ll persuade the others to sell. So talk to him, see what he wants, then stitch something together for next week.”

“I’m already working on it,” Sinclair said cheerfully.

Adam sighed as he replaced the telephone receiver. Again he ran his left hand through his hair, but this time he felt a tingle of anticipation. There was always something around the corner if you didn’t lose your head. He had a definite feeling of success about the Carefree deal. And there were plenty more deals.

And perhaps it was time to play the trump card up his sleeve. He’d never be in a better position to do it. Perhaps it was time for a little more reinsurance.

Annabel’s call from Scott came through to Saracen just as dinner was announced. She raced upstairs to her apartment and threw herself on the bedcover, a Welsh patchwork quilt in a soft pattern of cream and pink.

Waiting for Scott to pick up the telephone, Annabel could visualize the scene at the TV station. She could clearly remember the first day that Scott had shown her around, could remember being impressed by the overwhelming glamour of it all. From that day, Annabel had worshipped

him. She sometimes felt that were Scott not sitting at the studio news desk, face made up and hair sprayed, ready to roll and clearly in control why, then the news might never happen.

Eventually Scott’s voice came through faintly on the line.

“Angel, you aren’t going to like this one bit, but you asked the agency to call me as soon as Avanti decided. They don’t want to renew your contract.”

Annabel suddenly felt that her mind was spiralling out of control. Her forehead felt clammy and her hands began to shake. She found it difficult to swallow. Her heart was thumping so loudly that she wondered for a fleeting second whether Scott could hear it. Her ribcage seemed too small and she panted for air. She also felt a sudden, massive drop in the pit of her stomach, the place where her selfconfidence dwelled.

“Annabel? Are you still the re?” Thousands of miles away, Scott heard a gulp. He said reassuringly, “Angel, it isn’t the end of the world.”

“It is for me,” Annabel said.

Exhausted by anxiety and emotion, Clare had decided to go to bed early. In the thirty-foot-long, dark-panelled bedroom, she lay upon the Jacobean fourposter bed and gazed up at the crimson brocade canopy. Stripped down to her petticoat, she felt too tired to undress further. She wished that someone would invent a button that you pressed, and shazam! you were tucked in bed, washed and with your teeth brushed. Languidly she turned her head to the west facing windows, staring out at the neighbouring mountain high above the hill upon which Saracen was built.

Again Clare wondered if she had gone a bit too far, speaking so negatively about Gran’s novels, and being so emphatically against the trust.

Hearing a knock, she called, “Come in.” Slowly the door opened.

e of her husband. the doorway was the craggy out ling looked sheepish and apologetic. For one glad moment, Clare wanted to rush to him, put r head against his big chest, feel his strong hands stroking her back, and let Sam do all the worrying for her. But she remembered the sight of him in bed with that would-be and fought the impulse, staring angrily at him initead.

“What a re you doing he re?” came as soon as I heard that Elinor was … ill. It I, was in the Tribune a couple of days ago. I came to see if needed me. And if Elinor is going, I-want to say goodbye” Very touching, but Gran is getting better. You needn’t have come.” “I know. Adam already told me. He was about as welcoming as you are. Why’s he here if she’s recovering?”

“Adam has every right to be here,” Clare said pointedly.

“He’s been our family lawyer for years.”

“I’m not the only one who doesn’t trust the devious bastard. Buzz doesn’t like him,” Sam said, “and she is a lady with a very reliable built-in shit detector.”

“Adam isn’t Gran’s only lawyer,” Clare retorted.

“There’s another chap, Paul Littlejohn.”

“From the same firm? Then he’s probably under Adam’s thumb.” Suddenly Clare realized why Sam had come, and cried scornfully, “You can’t criticize Adam for being devious! I suppose you are straightforward? You’ve just hurtled halfway round the world only to say goodbye to your estranged wife’s grandmother! How touching!”

Sam nodded.

“Of course, I’d also like to see Josh.” “Not now. He’s asleep!”

“I know. I was told by a French sourpuss nurse in the hall; she’s clearly had charisma bypass surgery.”

“You should see the day nurses!” Then Clare was vexed that he’d almost made her laugh. She stiffened as Sam shut the door and took two steps towards her.

Hopefully Sam said, “I also want to see you.” He advanced, a dark, disturbing masculine presence. Each time Sam took a step forward, Clare took a step backwards, towards the windows.

“You’re seeing me now!” she said.

“I haven’t changed much in four weeks.”

“I have.” Sam took another step.

“That contrite line won’t work any more, Sam.” Clare’s voice was cold. Retreating until she bumped into a Spanish walnut table that stood before a window, she put her arms back to lean on the table, then decided that her position might look inviting, folded her arms, and scowled at Sam.

“I have enough to worry about,” she said crossly.

“Please leave, Sam! You can come back and see Josh in the morning but don’t think you can march in here and wheedle your way back into my heart in half an hour not this time!”

“Of course I know I can’t change things in half an hour. I’ve had four weeks to realize what a stupid bastard I’ve been,” Sam said.

Clare cried, “You don’t want a real relationship, you only want ego-boosting, pseudo-relationships!”

“I admit that’s what it has been like in the past.”

“I’ve had enough!” Clare stormed.

“You think that if I don’t know about your affairs, it can’t disturb our relationship. That it doesn’t matter if you cheat on your wife, so long as she doesn’t find out. But it does matter because our relationship becomes dishonest. Even if I don’t know it, you do, and that changes your attitude to me.”

“What the hell do you mean by th at?” Sam seemed genuinely perplexed.

“You invent, or goad me into, some failing to give you cause for complaint, so that you can then screw around with a clear conscience. Well, I’ve had enough of being the who doesn’t understand you! Now I do understand And I can’t stand your treachery and deceit! I can’t that parody of a happy life in that parody of a Place.

“No more affairs, I promise.”

“It’s no use, Sam. We both know that history will only at itself. You want to nibble every biscuit in the tin, d nothing will ever change you! I’m never going to forget t I saw or stop wondering whether it’s happening n.

Sam’s mind quickly returned to the last time he had n Clare, when she had returned early from the beach to wd Sam in their bed, and not alone. Clare had recognized the girl the would-be actress daughter of a neighbour who had been kind to Clare when the Shapiros first moved P. Under Clare’s glare, the frightened girl had shrunk against the headboard, her knees drawn up to hide her slim, naked body. Clare continued to stare until the girl scuttled from the bedroom to the patio; there, she hesitated, remembering her nakedness. Desperate, she cast one backward glance at Clare, then fled.

Hairy and naked, Sam had crouched on the bed feeling exposed and helpless. Then Sam had thrown her a pleading look, like a naughty little boy caught with his finger in the jam pot.

Finally Clare had screamed, “I’ve had enough of these scenes.” Without being told, Sam knew at that moment that Clare would leave him. This time she would Ring no bitter accusations or black lingerie at him. As he stared at the torment, fury, and despair in her face, he knew that Clare would not forgive him. He also knew that this disastrous episode was entirely his own fault and could easily have been avoided. After all, he could have taken the girl someplace else.

Now Sam looked at his wife as she stood at the en dof the long, dark-panelled bedroom, her back to the window, beyond which olive trees rustled in a hot breeze. Leaning against the walnut table, Clare felt her face tighten as she, too, relived that painful scene. Slowly she said, “I hate to admit this, but what hurt as much as the treachery was the humiliation. My self-esteem disappeared and I felt worthless, although I told myself that I was still an attractive woman, that there was no need to fel sexually inadequate.”

“So it’s the sex thing again!” Sam said with exasperation.

“I thought we’d settled that!”

“It’s not sex that’s the, problem it’s what you demonstrate during sex!” Clare’s cry was from the heart.

“A sexual reltionship isn’t separated from the rest of reality, Sam. It never once occurred to you that you might be an ignorant, selfish, lousy lover. It was arrogant of you to assume that I was inadequate! Deep down, you still don’t think I’m a normal woman! You’re still afraid of any attack on your divine male right to know everything there is to know about sex.” Sam realized that, for the first time, Clare was yelling at him instead of building up a silent volcano of resentment. He wasn’t sure what to do: he didn’t want to go over all that again. On the other hand, Clare was finally able to express her anger clearly to the person who had caused it.

Sam knew better than to interrupt her flow.

“… And while we’re talking about the man’s divine right to know, little babies are born knowing all they need to know about love: they’re unselfconscious, they can communicate, and their first experience sucking is a sensual one! But by the time a baby boy grows up, his head has been stuffed with myths and taboos, and the idea that in sexual matters, the man always knows best!”

Sam looked suitably unsure.

-“Clare paused, then shook her head wearily.

“There’s no the things I t in this, Sam. You’ve never listened to even when something is an obvious fact, you say, and never quite seem to believe me, or to trust me. You’re too trapped in your own ego to be able to hear or to understand.”

“They should teach a guy these things at school,” Sam said lamely, as he was clearly expected to make some response.

“Please believe me, Clare, I’ll do anything to get you back.”

“Exactly what do you want to get back?” Clare asked.

“My wife and my son,” Sam said firmly.

“And, of course, your career?” “Yes.” Sam’s last movie, Mainsail, had performed unimpressively.

“So at last we have the truth!” Clare shouted.

“You turned up here because you thought I was about to inherit enough money to stage your movie comeback!”

“That isn’t fair, Clare. Sure, I could use any investment that’s floating around. Who can’t? I’ve got an option on a terrific screenplay. It’s called “Voyage to the Moon”. It’s about”

“Get out!”

Sam did not retreat.

“You say that you want total honesty from me, and then you throw me out when you get it! You know movies always came first in my life until I met you. Now they come second, but I’ll admit it’s a close second.” Clare wondered why she felt so hurt, when she’d always known the truth. Sam was a movie creature, first and foremost. He might say now that he put his wife and child first; he might even think it. But the fact was that ninety nine per cent of his energy, his concentration, his time, and his money was devoted to his business. His family got what was left.

Nam looked again at the dark smudges of exhaustion under Clare’s eyes. He saw how thin she’d become in only four weeks. He longed to take her in his arms, but she swiftly dodged around the table to the window so that the Spanish table was a barrier between them.

“Get out,” Clare said again.

The next morning, Buzz sat on a pale blue chair before the window in Elinor’s bedroom.

“Only one visitor at a time, the doctor said,” Buzz reminded her firmly.

“And keep it short. Remember, you didn’t feel too good yesterday. Ten minutes each girl and not a second more! You’ll see Miranda first, then Annabel.”