Folly's Child (45 page)

Nothing mattered, nothing was the least bit important, except seeing Greg again, being with him, making love – if that was what such a frenzied, yet detached, act could be called.

It was June now, six whole months without him. Was there someone else? Was that it? In New York he was the same, social grasshopper he had always been but he was abroad a lot. Besides, there was always the possibility that his new amour was as secret as their liaison had been. But she would know, Paula thought, if that were the case. If Greg was behaving with someone else as he had behaved with her she would be the first to spot it. She would recognise that casual cruelty anywhere.

The summer heatwave hit the city early. In the house on East 70th the air conditioning kept the rooms from becoming unbearable but outside dust settled on the leaves of the trees, and a heat haze shimmered just above the grey ashphalt of the roads and sidewalks.

In boardrooms and offices the temperature was rising too, though this owed little to the weather. Greg Martin's name was being bandied about and coupled with such descriptions as charlatan, con-man and crook and the investors who had placed money with his investment service began to become restive.

Eventually Hugo, beside himself with worry, called a hasty meeting with Greg. But far from allaying his fears his backer's breezy, unconcerned attitude only made him more sickeningly certain that something was terribly amiss.

‘Christ knows what he's playing at,' he said to Paula over dinner. He had not meant to talk to her about his business worries – she would not want to hear about it, he thought, and it might drive her into another of her withdrawn moods – but somehow, overwhelmed with concern as he was, there was no way he could keep from talking about it, and to his surprise Paula responded as if she was actually interested.

‘Greg? Why should he be playing at anything?'

Hugo shook his head. ‘I don't know. But if there is any substance to the rumours that are flying around we could be in big trouble, Paula. Very big trouble. Everything I've worked for could be on the skids.'

‘Why?'

‘Oh honey – because Greg put up the money to get me going. And now I'm beginning to wonder just where that money came from. The business is mine – thank God Greg and I never became partners officially – so I think it should be safe. But if the money he put in belonged to his investors then I may have to find a good few thousand dollars in one hell of a hurry. We could be ruined, Paula.'

‘What about Greg?' Her eyes were bright and hard.

‘I don't know, honey, I honestly don't know. But the bloody incredible part is that he is taking off on holiday tomorrow. Would you believe such a thing? He says it's been planned for weeks and he's not going to cancel just because of some stupid panic on Wall Street.'

Suddenly Paula was very aware. ‘Where is he going?' she asked tautly.

‘Italy, of course – where he always goes. Can you believe it – that he'd just swan off as if nothing was wrong?'

Paula said nothing but a pulse had begun to beat in her throat for suddenly she was remembering a conversation she had once had with Greg. A well-known New York businessman had just gone bankrupt, and lying in bed with Greg in his sumptuously decorated apartment, Paula had asked: ‘What would
you
do, Greg, if you were to lose all this?'

He had laughed, trailing a finger across her small breast. ‘Don't worry, I won't.'

‘How can you be so sure?' she pressed him. ‘ Even the most unlikely people are going bust all the time.'

‘True. But I have every eventuality covered. Believe me, I wouldn't be a poor man.'

‘But how can you insure against something like that?'

He trickled the finger up her breastbone, neck and chin to tap her nose. ‘That's for you to ask and me to know,
cara mia
. But I will tell you something. I wouldn't stay around here to be humiliated. Oh no, I'd hightail it away to where I'd be well off again.'

At that point she had made a small snapping bite at his finger which was by now hovering over her lips and as the love-play started again Paula had completely forgotten the conversation. Now, however, it came back to her with startling clarity and she found herself trembling with a certain unwelcome knowledge.

Greg was in trouble and Greg was going away – she was certain of it. The holiday was just a blind to get him out of the country and then he would pick up the money she was certain he had stashed away somewhere and disappear for a few years. He had always known something like this might happen and he had prepared for it. She might almost have laughed at his cleverness if she had not been so terrified that it all meant she would certainly never see him again.

‘Look, honey, I'm afraid I have to go out,' Hugo said when they had finished dinner.

‘To see Greg again?' she asked.

‘Not this time, no, though it is about Greg. I'm sorry, honey, I know you don't like spending the evening alone …'

‘Oh I don't mind,' she said, trying to hide her delight. For Hugo to be out was just what she wanted, for all through dinner she had been formulating a plan …

The moment Hugo had gone she picked up the telephone and called Greg's number. Let him be in! she prayed. Oh, let him be in!

At last he answered. He sounded, she thought, slightly edgy, and she smiled to herself. For the first time in months she felt powerful again. It was a good feeling.

‘Greg – hi. It's me – Paula.'

‘Paula!' He sounded surprised.

‘Aren't you pleased to hear from me?' she asked almost playfully. ‘It's been so long! And now I hear you're planning to take a little holiday.'

‘That's right,' he said tersely.

‘So – darling, since we haven't seen one another in simply ages, why don't you take me along?'

There was a small cold silence. Then Greg asked: ‘Are you mad?'

‘No. Just tired of being ignored. I miss you so much, darling and I'm sure you must miss me. So why not take me with you?'

‘I'm sorry, Paula, but I can't possibly do that.'

She smiled, the sense of power beginning to grow.

‘Oh Greg, I'm quite sure you can! That is, of course, unless you want me to tell what I know.'

She heard the swift intake of his breath, but his voice when he spoke was still tautly controlled.

‘And what is that?'

‘Well, darling, that you don't plan to come back, of course. From what I hear there are quite a few people who would be distraught to hear that – they might even want to prevent you from going. And then of course there is your secret cache …'

‘What secret cache?'

‘The money you have hidden away for a rainy day …'

‘How do you …' He broke off, but she knew what he had been going to say – How do you know about that? Did you go snooping at my flat whilst I was in the shower or whatever? She hadn't, of course. She had nothing to go on but that one conversation and her own sharp assessment of what it had meant, but his reaction now told her she was absolutely on the right track.

‘Oh yes, it would be a pity if you lost that, wouldn't it?' she said silkily.

For a moment there was complete silence, then he said: ‘ Perhaps you're right, Paula. I would miss you.'

‘Oh, you would. You would.'

‘All right then – be here first thing in the morning. But we are just going on holiday remember. Don't tell anyone anything more than that or you'll ruin everything. Do you understand?'

‘Oh yes, Greg – yes!' She was elated now; she had won!

‘If you breathe a word about anything else I won't take you with me. Can I trust you?'

‘Of course you can, Greg!' she said. ‘I wouldn't be so stupid, would I? After all, it's not just your future that is at stake, darling, it's mine too.'

She replaced the receiver and sat hugging herself, so excited she could barely keep still. She was going with Greg. Not just for a holiday but for the rest of her life. He would never be able to treat her with casual indifference again – not now. For the first time she had him in her power just as she had always wanted. They would be together and they would have the money he had stashed away in South America or a Swiss bank account or wherever and it would be wonderful – wonderful!

Paula threw back her head and laughed with almost manic delight.

When she was calm again Paula asked Doris to pack her suitcases, explaining that she was taking a holiday. When she detailed the things she wanted Doris raised her eyebrows but said nothing – she was used to her employer's excesses. But all these things for just a few weeks! Ah well, better just do it, Doris thought philosophically. It didn't do to argue with Mrs Varna.

Paula prowled the house too tight strung with excitement to settle in any one room. When it was Harriet's bedtime she went to the nursery to kiss her goodnight and the child clung to her, sensing something was amiss. Paula hugged her, put her away, then dragged her into her arms again, burying her face in the soft fair hair, overcome for just a moment by a rush of maternal love. Could she take Harriet with her? No, it simply was not practical. It would spoil everything to have a child along. But perhaps one day when she was older Paula would send for her.

‘Goodnight, baby,' she murmured, tears that sprung more from a theatrical display of emotion than from real feeling welling in her eyes, and suddenly the voices were whispering at her from the corners of the room:
She hasn't been much of a mother, has she? Bloody rotten, really. But what else would you expect?

Paula raised her head, glowering into the shadows.

‘Be quiet, can't you? Be quiet and leave me alone!'

The whisperings subsided so she could no longer hear what they were saying, only an indistinct accusing buzz.

She kissed Harriet again, tucked her up, and went downstairs. It was almost eight-thirty when Hugo's limo brought him home. It had been one hell of a day and he was very tired.

He had lunched with John Fairchild, the larger-than-life supremo of Fairchild Publications who had turned
Womens Wear Daily
from a boring trade newspaper into compulsive reading for anyone with an interest in fashion and because he was enjoying himself he had allowed the lunch to go on too long and drunk a little more than he usually did in the middle of the day. John was such good company – although like everyone else in the fashion industry Hugo had a healthy respect for the man whose cutting one-liners and ‘In' and ‘Out' lists could make or break a designer, a garment manufacturer or a member of the Shiny Set, he never failed to enjoy the publisher's often outrageous behaviour and impeccable good taste. When he had returned to the office, however, it was to find Jason Hearst, his lawyer, waiting to see him, full of gloom and despondency about the Greg Martin rumours, and when the meeting was over there were still a hundred and one things to be done before he could pack up and go home.

Paula was in the garden room and one look at her told him she was in a strange mood – ‘hyper' as Sally had described it. Her face was flushed, her eyes very bright, and she had obviously been drinking. Determined to treat her normally he poured himself a whisky and threw himself down in a chair to drink it, but Paula remained standing, flittering about the room as if she were a trapped butterfly, desperate for escape. Suddenly she laughed, a high little giggle that made him look at her sharply.

‘Paula? What's up, honey?'

She lifted her chin, fiddling with one earring and looking at him with a strange smile that was halfway between excitement and triumph.

‘I've something to tell you, Hugo. I'm going away with Greg tomorrow.'

For a moment his mind went utterly blank. ‘ What?'

‘I'm going to Italy, with Greg. I thought you ought to know.'

He stared at her, uncomprehending. ‘What are you talking about?'

She laughed again, a high-pitched trill of tension.

‘I'm going to Italy with Greg. What could be clearer than that? Oh Hugo, don't look so shocked! You must know about us. Even you couldn't be quite that blind. It's been going on for long enough.'

‘What's been going on?'

‘Greg and me. We're in love. We have been for years. And now I'm going away with him. Tomorrow. It's all arranged.'

He felt sick suddenly, all the wine he had drunk at lunch time turning sour in his stomach.

‘Paula – for Christ's sake …' He took a step towards her. She retreated as if afraid of his touch.

‘Don't, Hugo. Don't try to stop me.'

‘I don't believe this,' he said, still sounding stunned. ‘ Nothing has been going on between you. I'd have known about it. It's all in your imagination, Paula. You haven't been well. You're not well.'

‘You would say that. You're like
them
. You're against me – all of you. Except Greg.'

‘Don't be so bloody ridiculous! Nobody is against you. You've got to see someone, Paula. I believe you're really sick. I'll talk to Buster in the morning. He'll arrange for you to go to a really good shrink.'

‘No!'

‘Honey, you need help.'

‘No. I need Greg.' Her eyes were wild now, her mouth twitched as if she was about to laugh again and her voice rose hysterically. ‘You don't believe me, do you? You still don't believe me. You think I'm making it up. But it's true, Hugo. We are lovers and we have been for ages. The first time he took me in this very room. The night of your mother's birthday dinner.'

‘My mother's …'

‘Don't you remember, you went alone. We were going on to a party. Greg called for us. And he made love to me. Here –' the giggle escaped, ‘ on that rug. Just where you're standing.'

Hugo froze. Something in her tone, something in her face, told him that unlikely as it sounded, insane as Paula might be, she was only speaking the truth. Yet he could not, would not, believe it. It was too monstrous.