Betrayal (51 page)

On the day of the gala she spent every single moment preparing herself for what was to be the most important evening of her life. First of all she took Rebekah to school, wishing she could explain why she would be leaving her alone with her father but knowing that all she could do was leave her with happy memories and hope that one day they'd have a chance to be together again, although under what circumstances she simply couldn't imagine.

Fortunately Rebekah, unaware of the imminent betrayal, chattered all the way and gave her stepmother a brief kiss and hug before getting out of the car. 'When will you come back?' she asked at the last moment.

'Tomorrow morning.'

'Good. I don't like it when you're not here. See you tomorrow.' 'Tomorrow,' she agreed, and wondered how Rebekah would cope with her deceit.

After that she gave Alexi his bath and played with him until he became grizzly and difficult, when she put him in his cot and settled him comfortably beneath the duvet. 'I'll see you again very soon,' she whispered, but his long lashes were already against his cheeks and he didn't see her leave.

Jessica proved even more difficult. She was in a strange, almost hysterical mood, and either ran away from her mother or clung like a limpet to her legs, screaming wildly when Janice pulled her loose. This time, Lisa ran out. Deep down she wasn't convinced she'd see her daughter again because she knew that it was against Jessica that Neal would make his first move once he realised she'd gone, yet it was for Jessica's sake that she had to break away, and the risk was an unavoidable one.

After that she lay on her bed trying to relax. She practised the breathing techniques she'd learnt for the birth of her children and then went through a series of exercises that were part of her recovery programme from Dr Hughes. Usually they worked well but not today. Today her neck remained obstinately stiff and it felt as though she had a steel rod down the middle of her back.

Her hairdresser arrived mid-afternoon and complained about the condition of Lisa's scalp. 'It's so dry!' he complained, flicking disparagingly at it with his comb.

'It's stress, and you're here to make me feel good not give adverse comments!' she snapped.

Startled by her unaccustomed irritation he quickly set about cutting and shaping her thick hair until he was satisfied with its shape, then he tried to correct the condition of her scalp with a protein cream that usually worked well. Three hours later they were both pleased with the result.

He'd cut her hair shorter at the sides, sweeping it back behind the ears and leaving only small tendrils on the cheeks. The top had been layered and highlighted, while that too was swept off the forehead leaving a lightly feathered fringe. The back was long with all the hair sweeping round towards it to create the impression of a french pleat down the middle.

'You look wonderful!' he enthused, thinking that she certainly looked a great deal better than when he'd arrived. There'd been a lot of rumours about the Gueras marriage; rumours that it was virtually over, her husband already tired of her. However, the dressings on her hands and lower arms showed that the reported accident was no lie, and when Neal Gueras arrived home before the hairdresser had quite finished, he gave his wife such a passionate kiss that Andre decided the gossips were wrong. He was pleased. He thought her a pleasant woman and wouldn't have envied her if she'd got on the wrong side of her far from pleasant husband.

Once alone with his wife, Neal's expansive good humour lessened slightly but he was still delighted with the way she looked. Just as she began to collect all her makeup he put a lightly restraining hand on her shoulder.

'I'd like to celebrate your return to society,' he commented. She knew immediately what he wanted and wondered if she could let him touch her. He no longer cared for her, he didn't even seem interested in Alexi, all he wanted was to reassure himself of his power over her. But much as she might hate the thought, she knew that today of all days she had to keep him off guard. She moved slowly over to the bed. 'Nice!' he murmured as he turned away and lit a cigarette. 'You've still got a wonderful body.'

'It probably is, especially compared to that of a forty-year-old.' 'And claws as well!'

'I ought to get dressed now,' she said briskly.

Neal gave her a quizzical look. 'When did you learn to become so detached? I remember how you used to cling to me, desperate for some kind of security. Now I can't reach you at all.'

'It's called the survival of the species. This is the only way I can live with you now .'

'I find it quite stimulating! By all means go off and get ready. We're due at Sir George Leonard's for drinks at seven-thirty.'

It took her a long time to do her face to her satisfaction but finally she was ready. She'd managed to look healthy, radiant and natural but was ruefully aware of how much time that look had taken to achieve.

'We must get you a maid!' commented Neal, handing over the grey silk cloak that he'd bought her while she was recovering. 'That way we might get out on time.'

'I prefer to look after myself.'

'You don't want your privacy invaded! I think a maid would be a good idea.'

Lisa enjoyed knowing that what he thought didn't matter because she would never have to return to the house again.

Sir George's London home was big and draughty. His wife, a small, washed-out woman in an over-frilled evening gown, spent all her time apologising for the state of the rooms while her husband drank glass after glass of whisky and kept calling Neal 'my good friend here', which Lisa took to mean that the unfortunate man owed her husband money and hoped he wasn't going to have his debt called in.

When introduced to Lisa, his tired eyes flickered with intelligence and he furrowed his brow in thought. 'Got it! You're Simon's girl, aren't you?'

'Yes.'

'Placed you now! My word, you certainly got what you wanted, Neal, my old friend.'

'I usually do,' said Neal pleasantly.

'What happened to your father, my dear?' 'He shot himself.'

'Don't believe it! Not the sort of thing he'd have done at all.' 'Well, someone shot him.' Neal's voice was cold and Sir George's eyes shifted to his guest.

'Very good, someone shot him! My word, yes!'

'What's funny about that?' demanded Lisa, unable to keep silent in spite of the fact that tonight nothing must ruffle their apparent domestic bliss.

'Sorry, my dear. Can't think why we're talking about Simon in the first place. A born loser. I blame his wife.'

'Wives have a lot to answer for.' Neal's smile was back in place and he put an affectionate arm round Lisa. She managed to smile back at him. After all, that was why she was there. An hour later the four of them moved on to the Ball.

After being in the country for so long, Lisa found the packed ballroom overpowering. Everyone seemed to be talking too loudly, the laughter either shrill and forced or deep and jarring. She saw that during her absence there had been several changes in partners. Older wives had vanished to be replaced by blonde-haired look-alikes with over developed busts and an apparent lack of material to cover them , while some of the wealthy older women were proudly holding on to the arm of their latest toy boy. Britt Ekland and Joan Collins had a lot to answer for, thought Lisa, seeing the desperation behind the older women's smiles as they gripped their young men over-tightly until their knuckles showed white while they pretended not to notice how their companions' eyes strayed again and again to the nubile blondes they couldn't yet afford.

People were constantly coming across to Neal and Lisa, welcoming her back to London. They glanced discreetly at her lightly bandaged hands, took in the obvious bulges beneath the sleeves of her dress, and then went away disappointed because obviously the tale of the accident was true and it was plain to them all that the Gueras marriage was still strong. Indeed, Neal seemed reluctant to relinquish his hold on his wife for even a second. He was constantly touching her with light gestures of affection, smiling as though only in her company could he truly be happy.

Lisa thought it a chillingly effective performance. Even she couldn't tell the difference between the way he was looking at her tonight and the way he'd looked at her when they'd been courting. That was frightening. If anything went wrong tonight, and confident as Bellini had sounded it was obvious that there were plenty of things that could go wrong, then Neal might settle for his one heir and have her murdered. No one, after seeing him here with her tonight, would have the slightest suspicion. All they'd remember was his devotion, and no doubt they'd feel even more sorry for him when he played the grieving widower for what he considered the necessary length of time. During the meal he glanced continually up the table to where she sat between two immensely boring stockbrokers, and each time their eyes met he smiled encouragingly, as though he knew that like him she couldn't wait until they were together again.

When it was time for the dancing Neal danced only with Lisa, whispering softly in her ear as they moved gracefully round the floor, his hands firm and possessive on her body as his eyes caressed her.

It was the very skill of his performance that gave Lisa her opportunity to escape. Terrified by what he was doing, overwhelmed by the duplicity that lay behind it all and physically weakened by her accident, she finally succumbed to a genuine fit of panic as she found herself visualising her own death, probably at Bishop's hands, and suddenly she was gasping for air as all the blood drained from her face.

Neal immediately found her a chair and pushed the few over-bold photographers to one side to avoid pictures. There were beads of perspiration on his wife's forehead and her skin felt cold and clammy to his touch. He assumed he'd overtaxed her before she was fit, and having established their happiness in front of over a hundred guests didn't mind letting her return early to the Chelsea flat.

He'd have liked to go himself but, with a speech to make before the raffle was drawn, had to turn to the on-duty chauffeur of the evening to take her back. Naturally, given Bellini's careful planning, this was Mike.

As she stood shaking on the steps of the hotel, Lisa tried to draw in deep breaths of the fresh air, shuddering all the time and quite unable to control her trembling. 'I'll be back with you as soon as possible,' promised Neal. There was no trace of suspicion on his face because she was so obviously unwell. In any case, he would be putting her in one of his own cars and her own bodyguard would take her back to the apartment. All that worried him was that if he'd succeeded in making her pregnant recently, this outing might cause her to miscarry.

Lisa nodded, her teeth chattering as her terror increased. She didn't know what she'd do if it wasn't Mike at the wheel of the Rover, and when she finally saw him her mouth went dry. She knew now that it was all on, and if she failed then death would undoubtedly be a welcome release.

'Go straight to bed,' instructed Neal, bending down to the window. She nodded nervously. 'Hurry back to the flat,' he told Mike. 'No stopping for anything except red lights!'

'Understood.' As usual Mike's face was cheerful but alert. Neal had the utmost confidence in him and went back to the ballroom as content as possible under the circumstances.

After they'd been driving for a few minutes, Lisa tapped on the glass partition.

Mike pushed it back. 'You okay?'

'No, I… Mike, I'd like to walk for a few minutes. I need to clear my head.'

'You want to walk?' 'Yes.'

'I'd better stick close, make sure you're not accosted.'

'I'd rather you didn't. I'll just go round the block and then come back to the car.'

As they looked at each other, Lisa realised what she was asking of Mike. He was the man who'd been entrusted with taking her back home, and under no circumstances should he let her go for a walk on her own. She wondered how Renato could have been so stupid as to overlook the fact that if Mike did as she asked he was signing his own death warrant, and could have cried with frustration.

'Seems like a good idea,' he said casually as he got out to open her door.

For a second Lisa actually hesitated. She didn't know if she could make herself walk away from him, knowing what the result would be. 'Go on,' he murmured. 'Hurry!'

'Mike, I… '

'They know how to cherish princesses in Italy!' he said with a smile.'

Lisa bit on her lip to stop the tears and lifted her head to look at him one last time. 'Perhaps you'll come out to join me. I expect English chauffeurs are highly fashionable.'

'Perhaps I will at that.'

They both knew that he wouldn't and as she turned away from him, her heels sounding sharply on the pavement, Mike got back into the car and looked resolutely in the other direction. It was one thing to help her go, but quite another actually to watch her walk out of his life forever. That was too much even for him.

She fumbled to get the key out of her satin evening bag where it had lain as heavy as lead all the evening. She felt a surge of relief when it fitted the lock and quickly slipped into the tiny terraced house, only to stand fighting for breath in the cramped hall.