Crimson (56 page)

After flying for about twenty minutes, she calculated that Lydd lay directly ahead. Firmly pushing anxiety out of her mind, she started a slow descent to three thousand feet … two thousand … nine hundred … Still the Bonanza remained enveloped by white cloud.

Nervously Miranda took the plane down to seven hundred feet … then to five hundred: white silence still enshrouded it.

As she peered ahead, straining to see, one of her contact lenses started to irritate her eye. She blinked repeatedly as she went down to four hundred feet … then three hundred. Even at this low level, the light was dull and the cloud persisted.

Miranda screwed her eyes up and again peered downwards, unsuccessfully searching the opaque cloud below.

At just above two hundred feet, she saw a change in the colour of cloud. Yes, it was definitely. darker.

Then she saw … the tops of trees. Although visibility, bad when Miranda started her journey, had since deteniorated, at least she could see where she was going as the Bonanza slowly flew lower.

Now, where was Lydd? Miranda peered at the ground below, hoping to see a town or a road that she could pinpoint on the map that lay on her lap.

She stared, then blinked. She couldn’t believe what she saw. It wasn’t possible to be so lucky! Dead ahead of the Bonanza just visible in the distance an airport runway bisected the dirty green ground. Miranda felt a wave of relief run, like electricity, through her entire body and out to her fingertips, which started to tingle as her adrenalin level decreased.

,.“Ow knew exactly where she was! She was approaching 0 far boundary of the hedged field that lay about a quarter of a mile east of Lydd airport. She was going to make it! Her face relaxed a little as she put down her landing gear at just over two hundred feet.

As Miranda adjusted from blind flying on instruments -visual flight, her contact lens again started to irritate her She approached the runway. Her height was now one bun dred feet … fifty feet, she reckoned. But because her eye was watering, Miranda miscalculated: she was flying much lower than she thought. Just short of the runway, the Bonanza’s landing gear hit the top of the hedge on the airport boundary.

As the nose of the plane jerked abruptly downwards, Miranda instinctively corrected by pulling the stick back fast. With crumpled landing gear, the plane skimmed over the ground and leaned to the left; the wing touched ground, and the plane slewed around in a half-circle.

As the left wing buckled, Miranda, who hadn’t pulled her seat belt quite tight enough, was thrown forward. Her head hit the top of the instrument panel.

SATURDAY, 25 JANUARY 1969

The thin woman in the violet coat planted a farewell kiss on Adam’s cheek and moved away from the restaurant table.

Annabel smiled.

“Don’t tell me that was one of your clients.” She leaned across and, with her handkerchief, scrubbed the blackberry lipstick from his cheek.

“No, she’s a lingerie buyer for Harvey Nichols. Do you remember Johnny Briar?” “That man at Lloyd’s? Your friend who went bankrupt?”

“Yes. He and Nora were divorcing, but she took him back when Johnny had his nervous breakdown.” Adam stood up.

“I’d better not be late.”

“You work too hard,” Annabel said seriously.

“Who is this client who needs you on Saturday afternoon?”

“An important Jap.” Adam blew her a kiss.

Annabel watched him pause for a few words at almost all the pale-yellow-spotlit tables as he worked his way towards the entrance of the fashionable Arethusa Club.

As Annabel ordered more coffee, a man approached her table.

“Roger! How nice to see you. Coffee?” He was an acquaintance from her debutante days, tall but no longer slim, with thinning fair hair. He wore the fashionable art director’s uniform: black turtleneck sweater, hipster trousers, and a leather, brass-buckled belt that might have been taken from a cart-horse.

“I was sorry to read about Miranda’s accident. How is she?” Roger sat down and removed his heavy, horn-rimmed spectacles.

“She’s slowly recovering,” Annabel said, fighting back tears. She tried not to think about Miranda.

Roger said, “You girls were great fun, and you were all very nice to me.”

“You were always great fun. And so was Lady Rushleigh, I mean Mrs. Bromley.”

“I think Aunt Sonia hoped I’d marry an heiress. But I didn’t. I hadn’t yet found that I didn’t belong in that world, although plenty of people made it plain enough.” He smiled ruefully.

“Wasn’t that Adam Grant who just left?” “Yes.” Annabel brightened at the mention of her beloved’s name.

“What’s one of my favourite girls doing with a man like that? I know it’s none of my business, but, for old time’s sake, be careful.”

“Be careful of what, Roger?” “Perhaps you don’t know Adam as well as I do,” Roger “Xg carefully.

“We were at prep school together, and schoolboys rarely change. They may turn into art directors and la’ers, but behind the grown-up disguises, basic character doesn’t much alter. Did you ever meet Adam’s mother, by the way?” Yes, although I don’t remember her well. She was very severe, very formal, not easy to know; a bit chilling like the Duchess of Windsor.” “A tough old bird.” Roger nodded.

“She held the reins in at family. Her father was the boss of the business, and she never let anyone forget that. I’ve always wondered whether Adam inherited his impersonal attitude from Iter or whether he had to develop a shell to protect himself from her coldness.”

“I’ve never noticed it.” Annabel smiled.

“Surely you’ve noticed that, like the Ice Queen, Adam’s heart is frozen and he cannot fee lT

Annabel said cheerfully, “I think Adam and his heart are wonderful!”

“But unfeeling,” Roger repeated earnestly.

“Adam doesn’t want to feel and he despises anyone who does. He knows that to have feelings would make him vulnerable. Any warm impulse of his heart alarms him.”

“What are you getting at?” Annabel was puzzled.

Roger started to speak faster: “The nearest Adam gets to feeling anything is the pursuit of power. That’s what excites him. Adam loves money because it brings power. He can rely on money that’s why he can never get enough of ill”

“Does Adam owe you money?” Annabel asked, bewildered and a bit cross.

“Of course Adam owes me money or rather my agency. Adam owes money to everyone,” Roger said.

“He collected a debt for us from a defaulting client, then invoiced us for rather more than he collected.” He gave an unfriendly laugh.

“But that sort of behaviour doesn’t worry Adam.

After all, he grew up seeing that a shrewd lawyer can got away with anything.”

“I don’t have anything to do with Adam’s busiuess,” Annabel said coldly. She stood up to leave.

Roger jumped up and caught hold of her wrist. 11 shouldn’t be too sure. Adam doesn’t touch anything that isn’t business.”

“Let go of my wrist!”

“If you listen to me. I’ve heard you’re very fond of Adam.”

“Yes.” Annabel’s voice was curt.

“Be careful, Annabel. I’d hate to see you hurt. Remember kow secretive Adam is. There’s a reason for that.”

Annabel hesitated. She felt she shouldn’t listen to this man abuse Adam, but she also felt an irresistible urge, like Pandora with the box, to hear what he had to say.

“Plenty of people are secretive,” she said.

“Especially lawyers.”

“Adam isn’t secretive because he’s a cautious lawyer” Roger shook his head’ but because he’s basically selfish. Adam doesn’t want to share anything, with anyone.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Annabel asked again, trying to tug her wrist away.

“Because I like you. Because I don’t like Adam, and I’ve good reason for that.” fWhat makes you such an expert on Ada mT “You should ask him,” Roger advised.

“And you should remember that Adam has a nasty habit of dumping people when he has no further use for them.”

Annabel said, “Perhaps you don’t know that Adam and I … I “Of course I know! That’s why I’m telling you this. I also i know about his affair with Miranda.” That was enough! She was leaving. Annabel again twisted to free herself from his grasp.

48o k Annabel, I don’t want you to be hurt.” As Roger .. AZ her wrist, he looked at her sadly.

“Open those I eyes,” he said calmly.

“Please! Look at how he’s using you, manipulating you. This is not something new; lies always done it to both women and men. Believe me .4 —1 know.” spite of Annabel’s fury, she paused. Roger’s quiet, jjjjisoling voice had the chilling ring of truth.

don’t believe he’s ever really loved anyone,” Roger said.

“Maybe Miranda, for a while. She’s the only woman who almost got. under Adam’s guard. I suspect that was Why she lasted so long. Generally Adam likes to make a “W,oman dependent upon him, then dump her straight away.

uses much the same technique with men.” With men?” Annabel asked, confusion and indignation in her voice.

“What do you meanT “Annabel, Adam is bisexual. He likes women and men or maybe, more to the point, he dislikes them both equally. Either way, he seems to be masterly at sex with both. As I said, Annabel, I know.” “Surely you don’t mean … ? Why, that’s preposterous!” Annabel seemed dazed, caught between anger and shock. She stared at Roger and saw long-forgotten pain and rejection in his eyes. Desperately she turned towards the door. How dare Roger suggest that Adam and he … Roger hurried behind her.

“If you want proof, Adam has one night a week he tries to save, for the boys,” he said.

“He usually goes to the Hilbury Arms a pub in St. Martin’s Lane on Saturday evenings. That’s the big night. And if you decide to go don’t bother to show up before nine o’clock that’s when the action starts.”

SATURDAY, 25 JANUARY 1969

Annabel spent an agonized afternoon racked by indecision. She was torn between her need to check on Roger’s story and the need to ignore the painful seed of suspicion that he had sown. Finally, at eight o’clock that evening, the need to know won out and she took a cab to St. Martin’s Lane.

In a navy mackintosh and with a navy scarf pulled down around her face, Annabel stood on the dark, rain-splashed pavement, which was almost deserted: the theatre crowds were now inside, watching the plays.

Annabel looked across the road. The exterior of the Hilbury Arms was dark green; the name was painted on the faa de in elaborate gold carnival lettering; the brightly lit, frosted windows looked inviting.

Hands in pockets, feet gradually growing numb from cold, Annabel stood there for over half an hour. She was frightened of her own feelings. Sexual rage and jealousy had swept over her in a violent, scarcely controllable flood of emotion that threatened to engulf her: she felt as crazy and unbalanced as when she first fell in love with Adam. Why on earth was she standing here? This was ridiculous. She kept telling herself that nothing had happened to make her doubt Adam, who was dining with a client. How could she not trust the man she loved? Why did she feel so jealous, after listening to a malicious troublemaker’s spiteful gossip? She should have refused to listen. She should go back to Adam’s flat now.

But Annabel had to know. U id f never knowing the truth was worse than her ca o iy. This thought propelled her across the road and rough the revolving doors of the Hilbury Arms. Someone behind Annabel said, “Excuse me,” and she was pushed farther inside the pub. Nearly everybody was clustered around the long, curved mahogany bar, although th pre was plenty of room elsewhere. A pall of cigarette almost blotted out the bitter smell of stale hops. his lamps with malachite glass shades hung from a ceiling by smoke. A Billie Holiday recording floated words ipf sadness and need above the steady babble of voices.

Annabel stared about her. A group of young men in the back corner looked like any suburban boys waiting outside cinema for their girlfriends. Some of the young men at the far end of the bar looked like art students, in black Jeans and turtleneck sweaters; some wore black paramilitary clothes or black leather jackets; a cluster of good-looking, well-groomed men sitting on barstools might have been sctors. One, a Cliff Richard look-alike with a scornful expression, snapped at anyone who drifted up to him. Annabel did not spot any other women.

She sat down shakily just inside the door. Wishing she could be invisible, she listened to the snatches of conversation.

“Not much in ‘ere tonight, Georgie, let’s go to the Colcheme…“I wouldn’t mind that down the lock-up…”

“Eyes off, sonny, this one’s mine.”

“Fancy a spot of…”

“I think perhaps you’re a little bit interested in my friend George. Right, squire?”

As Billie Holiday’s voice continued to moan of love and irony, Adam walked in, passing Annabel without seeing her as she hid in the corner shadows. He bounded towards the bar. The boy who looked like Cliff Richard stared disdainfully at him. Adam eagerly pushed through the crowd to the boy’s side. He kissed him on the lips, held him in a long caress.

on trembling legs, Annabel jumped up from her seat and dashed through the door, back into the night. Her hands shook and she felt sick.

“Bastard! Bastard! Bastardt” she screamed as she ran along the wet pavements and the rain slashed down on her.

SUNDAY, 26 JANUARY 1969

Miranda slowly put her hand to her head, and felt bandages. She opened her eyes, just a crack, and saw a small, cream-coloured hospital room filled with flowers.

“My headache seems to have gone,” Miranda murmured to the nurse who checked her pulse. When she first recovered consciousness the worst pain she ever felt had sizzled through her head.

Now Miranda’s head seemed filled with clear, pure air.

“When can I leave this place?” she whispered.

“Not yet,” the nurse said firmly.

“You’ve made good progress in the past two days, but you’ve had a severe concussion and it’s only been twenty-one days since your accident “Twenty-one days!”

“Keep calm you mustn’t get excited. The doctor’s instructions were to keep you sedated. You’ve had ten milligrams of Valium every four hours, which is why you had those swim my daydreams as you came round, but we’ve been cutting it down for the last two days. That’s why you’re more alert this morning.”