Fame (34 page)

‘Of course he can,’ Sabrina drawled, yawning dramatically to indicate her boredom at the circuitous debate they’d been having for the past ten minutes. ‘It’s his house. He can do what he likes with it.’

‘With respect, Sabrina,’ said Tish frostily, ‘you don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t talk to Sabrina like that,’ said Jago pompously.

‘Loxley isn’t “his house”,’ Tish told Sabrina, ignoring him. ‘It doesn’t belong to any one person. It’s been left to Jago in trust for the next generation.’

‘So you keep saying.’ Sabrina’s green eyes positively shone with mischief. ‘But as the next generation are going to be
my
kids, then
I
say where they’re gonna be raised. And it’s not gonna be in this godforsaken corner of nowhere, that’s for sure. It’s gonna be in LA.’

‘Fine,’ said Tish exasperated. ‘Then let the tenants move in and keep Loxley on a long-term lease.’

‘You’re not listening.’ Sabrina sat forward, like a cobra about to strike. ‘We don’t
want
to lease it. OK? Read my lips. We want to sell it and use the money to get a fuck-off estate in Beverly Hills. Legally, Jago has every right to sell.’

‘And morally, he has
no
right! Inheriting a house like this is an enormous responsibility.’

‘Yeah, Jago’s responsibility,’ said Sabrina. ‘Not yours.’

Tish looked to her brother for support. Neglecting his responsibilities at Loxley was one thing, but blatantly cashing in on his birthright, on hundreds of years of Crewe family history? That was a new low, even for Jago. A month ago, not even he would have contemplated selling their ancestral home. But already Sabrina’s pernicious influence had changed him for the worse. Perched on top of him now in a pair of skintight black Fendi suede trousers and a ribbed Gucci vest, she looked as tiny and fragile as a nymph. Yet it was crystal clear who called the shots in the relationship. If Sabrina had told him to douse himself in kerosene and light a match, Jago wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. It was hopeless.

Too exhausted to talk any more, Tish left the room. Thank God Abel was out on the farm with Bill Connelly, so she could retreat to her bedroom and down some Nurofen in peace. If possible, Abel was worrying her even more than Jago. Since Viorel’s departure a few days ago, he’d been so down that Tish hadn’t been able to interest him in anything. So desperate was she to cheer him up, she’d even offered to play
World of Warcraft
with him on the office computer, a game that he had played with Viorel for hours. Tish loathed computer games, especially violent ones but, thanks to Vio, her son was utterly hooked. But even this concession had been met by the same, monotone ‘no thanks’ that Abel had given to every proffered treat since Viorel left, from chocolate ice cream at breakfast, to a trip into Castleton arcade to win some new Dinosaur King cards. When Bill had offered to take him for the day, Tish was appalled at how relieved and grateful she felt.

She’d reached the foot of the stairs when Dorian came through the front door. In a plain white T-shirt and khaki shorts, he looked well, Tish thought, tanned from so much outdoor filming and visibly happier now that his return home to Romania was at hand.

‘Have you seen Sabrina?’ he asked, looking around the hall as if she might be hiding behind the umbrella stand or crouched under the stairwell. ‘She’s late for wardrobe, again.’

‘She’s in the kitchen.’ Tish sighed.

‘Everything OK?’ asked Dorian, picking up the weariness in her voice.

‘Not really.’ She told him about Sabrina and Jago’s latest bombshell, their plan to put Loxley on the market. ‘I don’t know how serious they are. A few days ago, Sabrina was banging on about how great it was going to be to be mistress of Loxley, and how she was going to rip out all the original features and spray-paint the place gold or some such rubbish. Maybe this is just her latest attempt to wind me up.’

‘Maybe,’ said Dorian.

‘Well, if it is, it’s working,’ said Tish. ‘On a purely practical level, if Jago doesn’t sign the tenancy agreement this week, we’ll lose the renters I lined up, even if he later changes his mind about a sale. Which, please God, he will.’ She closed her eyes again as the throbbing returned. ‘It’s not that easy, you know, finding a family willing to take on an estate this size. And I can’t keep coming back to fix Jago’s messes. I have to get back to Curcubeu, to the kids. I have a life of my own.’

Dorian nodded understandingly. ‘Sabrina’s in the kitchen, you say?’

Tish nodded wearily.

‘OK. Let me see what I can do.’

Sabrina and Jago were kissing with all the passionate intensity of a couple of teenagers. Sabrina had turned around in the chair and was straddling Jago, who had slid both hands up underneath her vest, and whose lips were clamped over hers as if he were trying to revive her after a near drowning. With their perfect bodies entwined and their tangled dark hair flying everywhere like wildly spun silk, they looked like one creature, a living erotic sculpture.

Dorian coughed awkwardly. ‘Sabrina.’

Nothing. The writhing continued.

‘Sabrina,’ he said more loudly. This time she heard him, turning around and disengaging herself from Jago with a half-irritated, half-embarrassed look on her face.

‘You were due in wardrobe fifteen minutes ago,’ said Dorian. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Not much, now that you’re here,’ grumbled Jago. Grabbing Sabrina’s hand, he murmured, ‘Do you
really
have to work, darling?’

‘Yes,’ Dorian answered for her, ‘she does. And I don’t appreciate having to leave the set to come and find her and remind her of that fact. Would you give us a minute?’

Jago looked disgruntled, but left them to it.

Once he’d gone, Dorian closed the door and stood with his back against it.

‘What the hell are you playing at?’

Sabrina frowned, straightening her hair and tying it back in a ponytail.

‘What do you mean? I’m a few minutes late for wardrobe. Jesus. It’s hardly the crime of the century.’

‘I’m not talking about that,’ said Dorian. ‘I’m talking about you and Jago.’

‘What about me and Jago?’ said Sabrina defensively. ‘It’s not complicated. We’re in love.’

‘Right, and I’m Danny La Rue,’ said Dorian bluntly.

Sabrina flushed indignantly. ‘We
are
,’ she insisted. ‘You know what, whatever. I don’t have to defend myself to you.’

Dorian looked at her, like a scientist studying a puzzling specimen. After a few moments, he said, ‘At first, I thought it was just Viorel you were trying to hurt. But now I get the feeling that this charade’s for Tish’s benefit too. Am I right?’

‘It is
not
a charade!’

‘Oh, come on, Sabrina. I
know
you. This ridiculous talk of marriage, threatening to sell Loxley.’ He laughed scathingly. ‘Don’t tell me that isn’t about hurting Tish. A girl who, as far as I can see, has never done a damn thing to hurt you.’

Sabrina lost her temper. ‘My God, you’re like a scratched record, defending her all the time without ever listening to my side of the story.’

‘What “story”?’ said Dorian, exasperated.

‘I never said we were going to sell Loxley, OK? I said that we
might
sell. And that it was up to Jago, not
her.
I’m tired of her lording it over me, thinking she’s so high and mighty. Just because you think the sun shines out of her saintly ass, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to run rings around her precious feelings.’

Dorian shook his head. ‘You’re better than this, Sabrina.’

His disappointment was more than Sabrina could bear. Dorian was obsessed with class. Her engagement to Jago was supposed to make him think more of her, not less. Yet here he was,
still
going on about ‘poor’ Tish,
still
taking her side. The unfairness of it made her lash out.

‘You’re just jealous, because I’m getting married to someone who loves me, and you’re saddled with a miserable wife who’s so resentful of you I doubt she’d piss on you if you were on fire.’

Dorian reeled backwards, as if he’d been slapped.

Sabrina felt a stab of guilt. Perhaps she’d gone too far?

For a moment, they stood there in silence. Then Dorian said, very quietly, ‘You know nothing about my relationship, Sabrina.
Nothing.
’

‘Fine,’ shot back Sabrina. ‘And you know nothing about mine.’

‘I know a sham when I see one. If it’s money you’re after, there is none. Loxley’s a black hole. I have a stately home of my own so I know what I’m talking about.’

Of course you do
, thought Sabrina bitterly. Dorian might give off regular-Joe vibes, but the truth was he was an aristo just like Tish. No wonder they stuck together like limpets.
And I’m just a nobody who got lucky, right?

‘This has nothing to do with money,’ she said icily, determined not to let Dorian rattle her. ‘I’d marry Jago if he had nothing.’

Dorian smiled wryly. ‘You know what? You probably would, too.
Purely
out of spite. You are a piece of work when you want to be, Sabrina. It makes me sad because I know how much more you are, how much more you could be.’

Sabrina pushed past him. There were tears in her eyes.

‘Fuck you,’ she said viciously. ‘I don’t need your approval. And I don’t give a crap what you think. You are not my father. You’re my director, and thankfully not for much longer. I’m going to marry Jago, and if you, or
Tish
, or anybody doesn’t like it, you can all kiss my ass.’

She stormed out of the room.

‘Where are you going?’ Dorian yelled after her. ‘We aren’t done yet, Sabrina.’

‘Wardrobe,’ she shot back at him. ‘And, for your information, we are done. We are totally and completely
done.
’

She fled down the corridor, willing him not to follow her. Whatever else she did, she must never, ever let Dorian Rasmirez see her cry.

Four days later, the film crew packed up and left for Romania. Tish, who couldn’t bear goodbyes, watched them go from an upstairs window with Mrs Drummond.

‘You’ll be next,’ said Mrs D wistfully, as the last of the trucks pulled away, with Chuck MacNamee waving cheerfully from the driver’s window. ‘I’ll miss you and Abel. It’s been lovely this summer, having a child in the house again.’

‘You’ll still have a child in the house,’ joked Tish. ‘You’ll have Jago.’ It was gallows humour, but she didn’t really know what else to say. None of them knew what the future held for Loxley with Jago, and perhaps Sabrina, at the helm. Tish felt terrible about going and leaving poor Mrs D in the lurch again.

‘He won’t really put the house on the market, will he?’ The tremor in the old woman’s voice filled Tish with fury towards Jago. Loxley was Mrs Drummond’s home as much as it was theirs. How could he and Sabrina play fast and loose with so many people’s lives and emotions? They deserved each other.

‘I doubt it,’ she said, hoping she sounded more convinced than she felt. ‘He hasn’t mentioned it again since our row. And, whatever she says, I think Sabrina loves the idea of being lady of the manor. I doubt she’ll give it up when push comes to shove.’

‘You really think they’ll marry, then?’ Mrs Drummond sounded surprised. ‘You don’t think it’s a flash in the pan?’

Tish shrugged. ‘With Jago, who knows? It could be.’ But deep down she feared that this was one flashing pan that might very easily turn into a forest fire. Sabrina Leon was trouble, a lighted match to Jago’s fuse.

And all I can do is sit and watch.

PART THREE

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Chrissie Rasmirez arched her back and thrust her hips forward, greedily pulling her husband deeper inside her.

‘Tell me you want me,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘Tell me you need me.’

‘You know I need you,’ replied Dorian automatically, nibbling Chrissie’s earlobe, and marvelling again at her fit, athlete’s body. He himself was in lousy shape, physically and mentally. So much so that he could feel his erection starting to fade, and tried doubly hard to focus on the job in hand.

Coming home to Romania had been bitter-sweet. As ever, Dorian’s heart leaped at the sight of the majestic Transylvanian landscape, the verdant Carpathians jutting against the sparkling blue sky like a string of giant emeralds threaded on the golden Bistrita river. Nestled amongst the jewelled countryside, the Rasmirez Schloss stood as tall and proud and ancient as ever, solid, unchanging and beautiful. Loxley was a romantic house, and the fields and villages surrounding it idyllic, but it was beauty on a miniature scale. Compared to the Schloss it felt like a perfectly rendered doll’s house. But Dorian missed Loxley Hall nonetheless. Or, rather, he missed the sense of calm that he had come to feel there. Certainly, there was precious little calm and order to be found at home.

Since he’d got back, Chrissie had been as demanding and complicated as ever. Her neediness, combined with the stresses of filming, establishing a new set in the Schloss’s East Wing and all the long hours of frustration that entailed, left Dorian permanently exhausted. And then there were the financial pressures. At Loxley Hall, Dorian had somehow been able to shut everything else out and focus on making the movie. The money, the distribution deal, that would all come later as long as the work was good.
Build it and they will come
, he told himself. But here, every day on set was a reminder of what he stood to lose if
Wuthering Heights
was not a success. The sleepless nights were back with a vengeance.

‘What’s wrong?’

The pace of Dorian’s thrusts had slowed. Chrissie could sense his distraction, feel him wilting inside her.

‘Nothing,’ Dorian lied, speeding up but feeling increasingly hopeless. He’d reached the point where no amount of visualizing Brooklyn Decker minus her
Sports Illustrated
bikini was going to help – and if Brooklyn couldn’t help him, no one could. Chrissie always took it personally when he didn’t come, and any excuses Dorian offered – tiredness, jet lag, work stress – only served to fan the flames of her anger. Especially after being apart for so long, now that he was home, Chrissie expected sexual fireworks on a daily basis. Dorian felt the performance pressure like a lead weight on his chest; or, more accurately, a slow puncture in his dick.