Murder... Now and Then (10 page)

Zelda didn't start the car. ‘What did you want to talk to me about?' she asked.

‘I want to talk to you about rumour-mongering, Zelda,' he said. ‘Charles tells me that you're saying Catherine was three months pregnant when she came here – that she had an abortion! What put that idea into your head, for God's sake?'

Oh my God, thought Geraldine, Charles had told him. Charles, who had visions of lawsuits if he so much as gave someone else's patient a sticking plaster, had
told
him? Geraldine couldn't believe it.

Max was staring at her, at the reaction that had entirely given the game away. ‘ Is it true?' he whispered.

‘I can't discuss Catherine's medical history,' said Geraldine.

‘It is true,' he said, stunned. ‘She had an abortion? But when?' Then his brow cleared, and he turned to Zelda, who had been keeping well out of the dilemma into which she had unwittingly thrust Geraldine. ‘You sent her away on that course,' he said. ‘That's the only time we've been apart since she came here.'

Zelda twisted round to look at Max. ‘Don't you pretend you would have wanted her to have it,' she warned him. ‘ If the police had found out that she was pregnant they would never have left you alone! You don't deserve her, Max. The way you behave is quite reprehensible at times.'

Geraldine took her cue from Zelda. ‘While we're on the subject of your behaviour,' she said, ‘did you
hit
Catherine this morning?'

The question sounded ludicrous, and Zelda's mouth opened as she stared at Geraldine.

‘If being given a lift home means that I have to submit to interrogation, I'd just as soon walk,' he said, opening the car door.

‘You'll stay where you are,' Zelda said quietly. ‘And answer Geraldine's question.'

To Geraldine's surprise, Max closed the door again and subsided in the back seat. She looked at Zelda, but Zelda wasn't taking her eyes off Max.

‘I slapped her,' he muttered. ‘All right?'

‘Max?' said Zelda, disbelievingly. ‘Why?'

‘Because I was very angry with her.'

Geraldine shook her head. ‘ But Max,' she said. ‘You've never hit a wom—' She broke off. Charles was right, though she had denied it, hadn't really believed what she was indeed thinking. What if that was what Max did when he was very angry? What if laid-back, easy-going Max got violent on the rare occasions that he did become very angry?

‘Just take me home,' he said.

Zelda shook her head. ‘I'll take you anywhere else you want,' she said. ‘But I won't take you home. Not while you're in this mood.'

Victor hadn't spoken once they had got into the flat that had been the subject of so much eyebrow raising; Anna knew better than to speak to him. Catherine had done it again. She had done another disappearing trick, and it would somehow all be Anna's fault. She had known she was in trouble as soon as he had whisked her away from the stragglers.

Chief Inspector Lloyd had sought her out to say goodbye to her and to tell her that it had been a successful day, and that she needn't have worried. Victor had been a lot less complimentary. The frustration that lay just skin deep surfaced when he was under stress, and that weakness was something that Victor couldn't afford to let anyone see but Anna. Catherine, as usual, had pushed the needle to overload.

He hadn't started yet but he would. Anna had borne the brunt of his wrath many times before, and it was never in the heat of the moment. Victor always got himself under control first; it was more menacing that way. He even took a shower, still without saying one word to her other than the unflattering assessment of her performance as his public relations manager, to which he had entertained her on their way up. Now, he came out of the bathroom, tying his bathrobe, walked to the door and touched the bank of switches that closed the curtains, and brought on concealed lighting, hidden above the low ceiling. He switched the television on to the news, then crouched down beside the video, picking up a brand-new tape.

He tried to loosen some cellophane with his thumbnail, and gave up. Then he caught a bit between finger and thumb and pulled, finding himself with half an inch of the stuff clinging to his hand and the tape still
virgo intacta
. He picked at the tiny hole until he got a sizeable chunk of cellophane, but the rest remained welded to the tape. He hacked away at it, and finally succeeded, scattering the bits all over the floor as he inserted the tape with a sigh of relief.

It was funny, but nothing in the world would have induced Anna to laugh. All it was doing was making him look foolish, which made matters worse; all he was doing was making her wait. She hoped it was Catherine who had really made him angry, and not her. But Max had
promised
; he wouldn't have told him.

He started recording as the news came on. About five minutes into the election special, their item appeared. A shot of the minister getting out of the car, then one of him talking to Victor. She could see herself in the background with Chief Inspector Lloyd, A few words about the end of the recession being in sight, then the minister shaking hands with her; she was female and under forty, so they'd chosen that clip, of course. Then the minister cutting the ribbon, then on to the Leader of the Opposition at a children's hospital.

He switched off again, and ran the tape back to the beginning of the item on Holyoak International, playing it, looking at his watch. ‘Eighteen seconds,' he said. ‘All these photographers, cameramen. Sound men. For eighteen seconds.' He switched off, and looked at her. ‘ Holyoak isn't news here,' he said. ‘But it will be. And you've got a great deal to learn about public relations.'

Anna almost sighed with relief. She had told him she would be no good. She was grateful to Victor for the job, but today had merely confirmed what she had been afraid of all along. She had hoped that he would have reconsidered, but she should have known better. She had never known Victor to change his mind about anything, but she had another go.

‘Victor, I can't do it,' she said. ‘I don't know the first thing about corporate identity and marketing and stuff like that!'

‘That, I'm afraid, is all too obvious.' He got up and sat in the armchair. ‘In fact, people think you must be my mistress.'

‘You can't blame them,' she said. What else would they think about this place? she thought, though she didn't say it. And grabbing her and bringing her up here would just add fuel to the flames of the gossip.

‘I don't blame them. I blame you.'

‘I've not had any training, Victor,' she said. ‘It's obvious I don't know what I'm doing. Oh, I'm just so much excess baggage,' she said angrily. ‘And they know it! They've started publishing things, Victor.'

‘Who have started publishing things? Some German scandal-sheets? What do they know?'

‘They know I've known you a lot longer than six months. They think we're having an affair – and issuing denials doesn't make it any better. If they start digging into my past, where does that leave me?'

‘It's of no interest to me where it leaves you,' he said. ‘You've let me down, Anna.'

‘No,' she said, alarmed, shaking her head. ‘Victor – I've done my best! I'm just not good at it! That's what I'm trying to explain to you. I read all these things you gave me – I even learned them off by—'

‘Be quiet!'

Anna stopped.

‘I'm not talking about your pathetic attempt to do a real job. I'm talking about Max Scott.'

Oh, God. Her relief had been premature, as Victor had intended it to be. Max had told him. The bastard. The rotten bastard. He promised. He
promised
. She swallowed hard. ‘I'm sorry,' she said, prepared to defend herself to the last ditch, but this time she had misbehaved, and she knew it. ‘I thought—'

I am not interested in what you thought. I told you a very long time ago not to ‘‘think'' anything. I warned you never to let me down again. You betrayed my trust Anna. Again. No one does that twice.'

Her mouth was dry.

‘However,' he said.

It was the most beautiful word she had ever heard.

Your very betrayal has earned you a reprieve. Your intimacies with Mr Scott have proved useful. You will remain in my employment – but not, I hasten to add, as my public relations manager. I will be terminating that appointment tomorrow morning.'

She didn't understand what the hell he meant and she didn't care. She had to sit and listen while he told her quietly and unpleasantly what he thought of her, but that was nothing new. It used to hurt; now she knew that it was probably no more than the truth, it didn't any more.

‘Keys,' he said, when he had finished.

She went into her bag, and handed him her set of keys to the penthouse flat.

‘Tell him the arrangement is at an end,' he said. ‘You will not see him again.'

She nodded, and decided she could speak again. ‘I'm really much better at what I do best,' she said.

He raised his eyebrows, and explained then, quickly, concisely, and brutally, why she couldn't continue in her old job, what the PR job had all been about, and what he expected of her in her new job.

And not since that night in the police van had Anna felt so violated.

Catherine huddled into her coat for security, rather than warmth, as she sat in the dark. She had come to her decision; she wouldn't be going home. Not tonight. She couldn't. She was afraid; she seemed to have been afraid for months. Ever since she had known what was going to happen. She had been afraid to tell Max, because of what she had done at the time; she had just let it all roll on, let it happen, putting off the dreadful moment.

But it wasn't until this morning that she had been afraid of Max himself. She hadn't ever expected that. But he desperately wanted an explanation, and the only one she could give him was quite inadequate.

Even if she could work out what in the world she could say to him, it wouldn't work, because he would be in no mood to listen. He felt betrayed, and small wonder. She could have put an end to all the speculation, all the innuendo, all the police questioning, and the cold-shouldering. She had tried to help the only way she could, but it had only made matters worse; he had been grateful for that once, but now he knew the truth, and he hated her for it. She could have proved Max's innocence, and she hadn't, it was as simple as that.

Except that it wasn't as simple as that. If only Max hadn't seen her stepfather that night none of this would have happened.

Her mind was filled with images; of Max, white faced with anger, of Zelda, anxious and puzzled. Why hadn't Catherine told her? Why was she so afraid? Of Geraldine, briskly examining her, asking about the red marks on her face, so obvious against her pale skin. It wasn't Max's fault; they mustn't blame Max. It was her own fault.

And she had fainted, when all that fear had got too much; lying on the bed in that low-ceilinged, beige and cream room, she had had to look at the situation logically. Max might never forgive her, whatever she did, whatever she said; the hurt could have gone too deep. Unless … at the back of her mind had been the hope, the single, almost indecipherable hope that she could get him back.

And she was going to try.

Max's interrogation by Geraldine and Zelda had been punctuated at one point by the sound of high-heeled shoes clicking down the stairway; a few moments later, Anna Worthing's Porsche had backed out from behind the stair wall, and she had driven noisily out.

Zelda had refused to start the car until Max had assured them that he wasn't going home; Charles hadn't reappeared, and Max had finally asked to be dropped at the estate where Anna had her flat. It was a five-minute journey from the factory, but it was almost nine o'clock when he at last heard footsteps on the stair.

He pushed himself away from the wall as Anna made her way up towards him. She looked terrible; her face was drawn with fatigue and worry, her eyes dark and dull as she came up to him. ‘What the hell are you doing here?' she asked, the words slurring.

‘I needed somewhere to go,' he said. ‘I couldn't go home. I thought you'd be here – I saw you leave.'

She frowned, and rumbled with the key in the lock as she opened the door. ‘I didn't see you,' she said. ‘I thought it must have been you at the door.'

He frowned. ‘What door?' he said.

‘The door,' she said. ‘The flat door. Victor's door.'

She had had a great deal to drink. Max followed her into the flat. ‘Did you drive in that condition?' he asked.

‘Yes,' she said, throwing the keys down on the table. ‘I drove in this condition. Wasn't that wicked of me?'

She went straight to the table where she kept the drinks, and held the bottle up in enquiry.

He shook his head. He had never found solace in alcohol, and by the look of Anna as she tossed back the brandy she had poured herself, she wasn't finding much either.

‘Why couldn't you go home?' she asked. ‘And why did you behave as though your wife wasn't there when she fainted?'

‘Because I knew why she'd fainted,' he said.

Anna frowned. ‘ Why?'

‘She was scared to death,' he said.

‘What of?'

‘Me. And Zelda wouldn't take me home. She and Geraldine thought I might kill her – I make a habit of that, you know.' He sank down on to the sofa. ‘I don't know what to do, Anna.'

Anna stared at him, still frowning. ‘Why didn't you use your own car? You've not been drinking.'

He sighed. ‘It's a long story,' he said.

‘You had a row last night?' she asked, pouring herself another brandy, joining him on the sofa.

‘Yes,' said Max. How like Catherine to think that if she didn't tell him that Holyoak was her stepfather, the problem would just go away. That bit at least made sense. None of the rest of it did.