Darling Sweetheart (44 page)

‘Hiya!’ Proctor grinned. She burst out laughing; he put a finger to his lips. ‘Sshhh!’

‘What are you…?’ She stuck her head out. He hung from a rope, fixed to the wall with metal climbing pegs. He stepped into the sill and shone the torch in his face again.

‘Boo!’

She hugged him. He wore a dark-blue jumper and jeans. His left cheek bore an impressive purple bruise, which she stroked.

‘Oww! C’mon – we can’t hang around. Geddit?’ He produced a harness from his belt. ‘Do you remember how we met?’

‘You’re mad!’

‘Then I’m in good company.’ He nodded at Roselaine’s dress. ‘Do you want to change?’

‘No.’

‘Goody – just like old times.’ He slipped the harness around her waist and clipped it to his own. ‘Let’s go.’

‘I can’t! They’ve got Froggy!’

‘You’re not still going on about
him
, are you?’ He pushed outward and, suddenly, she was in midair, his arm around her waist as they abseiled down, down. They touched the ground. He chortled. ‘“And all because the lady loves Milk Tray…’”

‘Ben! I’m serious! I can’t leave without Froggy! Emerson knows I won’t, so he’s hidden him to make sure I play nice and I don’t know where–’ but Proctor wasn’t listening; instead, he was staring over her shoulder.

‘Aw, shite…’

She looked around. Levine stood by one of the pillars of the colonnade, pointing a double-barrelled shotgun. Proctor held his hands up.

‘Look, pal, if it’s about that time in the studio…’

‘How did you get in here?’ the bodyguard demanded.

‘Levine,’ she began, ‘please don’t–’

‘How did you get in here?’ His eyes were on Ben.

‘I climbed, pal. I’m a stuntman, remember?’

‘Show me.’

‘Look, there’s no need–’

‘Show me!’ He jerked the gun. Proctor reached down to detach Annalise from the harness but Levine followed the movement with his weapon. ‘Both of you! Move!’

‘All right, big man, keep your hair on!’ Still joined at the waist, Proctor led her in an awkward dance around the luminescence of the swimming pool, then towards the potted orange trees. ‘Look, this was my idea, not hers. Don’t hurt her, okay? You can do what you like with me, but don’t hurt Annalise, okay? Or her frog…’

‘They can
not
do what they like with you!’ she protested.

But Levine just gestured with the gun. Proctor stopped at the castle wall, where it dropped down into the village. Another rope was fastened around one of the crenellations. He shrugged at it.

‘Lemme go, pal,’ he tried again, ‘just let me leave and we’ll call it quits for you drugging me and dumping me in a field outside bloody Luton.’

‘That wasn’t me,’ Levine sighed. He lowered the gun and addressed Annalise. ‘You know it’s all been down to H.E., don’t you? Right from the start. He got Frost to tell the press that you and him were an item; she even told them where to find you, that night they ambushed us in Beynac. Then at the hotel in Bristol.’

‘I’d guessed as much, yes. I didn’t think anyone could be so scheming and manipulative, but I guess now I know better.’

‘Guess you do.’

‘But why me? I mean, of all the women he could have picked – why me?’

‘You’re young, good-looking, no track history and he’s a fan of your daddy – perfect wife material.’

‘But he could have just asked!’

Levine grinned. ‘Would you have said yes?’

‘I don’t know! I’d have wanted time to think about it, I suppose. Quite a long time, because I don’t fancy him. But, in some ways, he’s very like my father, so perhaps if he hadn’t put all that pressure on me…’

‘When you a big star like H.E., time is the one thing you don’t have. Waiting is for little people; you gotta have everything,’ he clicked a finger and thumb, ‘right away. Now listen to me: you guys wait here. If you ever wanna see your frog again, don’t move.’ He walked quickly away, towards the darkness of the castle. Their complexions tinged by the yellow spotlights, Annalise and Proctor stood nose-to-nose, still harnessed.

‘I think he likes me,’ she explained.

‘Oh aye? Should I be jealous?’

‘Well, he is twice your size…’

‘Freeze, punk,’ Proctor’s hand mimicked a gun, ‘if you wanna see your cuddly toy again!’

Suddenly, Levine came pelting back out of the colonnade. From behind him, they heard shouting – it sounded like Emerson. Lights went on in the building. Levine held Froggy in one hand and his shotgun in the other.

‘Go!’ He shoved Froggy at her. ‘Get outta here!’

‘Hiya, bug-face!’ Froggy crowed. ‘Hiya, fall-guy! Howzit hanging!’

Annalise hugged Froggy then went to gratefully hug Levine too, but she forgot she was tied to Proctor, who fell against the bodyguard.

‘Thank you so much. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.’

‘By gettin’ the hell outta here,’ he growled. He looked over his shoulder. ‘Aw, shit…’

Emerson came charging through the colonnade, wearing a pair of black silk pyjamas.

‘Levine!’ he squawked. ‘What the fuck?’ He scuttled across the garden. ‘Gimme back that goddamn frog!’ He noticed Proctor. ‘You again! I’m gonna have you killed, you fucker! Stay away from my woman! Stay away from my movie!’ He leapt at Annalise and Froggy but stopped abruptly, inches away, clawing at the air. With one hand, Levine held him by the throat.

‘Now,’ the giant told Proctor and Annalise, ‘would be a really good time for you guys to leave.’

‘He’s right.’ Proctor lifted her onto the lip of the wall, climbed up beside her and clipped them both to the rope.

‘Graaaaaaaaghhh!’ Emerson was choking, still scrabbling but unable to advance, like a rabid dog on a leash. Bernstein jogged from the colonnade holding a pistol, followed by Frost, who wore only a skimpy negligee.

‘Get them!’ she yelled. ‘Stop them!’

Still holding Emerson, Levine levelled the shotgun. ‘Bernstein!’ he barked. ‘Not this time, man!’

‘Kill them all,’ Frost countered, ‘or you’re fired!’

Bernstein stopped, scratched his head with the butt of his pistol, then put it away. He shrugged at Frost. ‘Might hit the boss…’

‘You goddamn wimp!’ she snarled. ‘Gimme that!’ She tore at his blazer, trying to take his weapon, but he pushed her off and, with a bright splash of water, she fell into the pool. Levine lowered his shotgun.

‘Thank Christ for that…’ Proctor breathed. Levine released Emerson’s throat but still held an arm up to prevent him from getting to Annalise.

‘You’re fired!’ the star shrieked. ‘So fuckin’, fuckin’ fired!’

‘You can’t fire me, asshole,’ Levine poked his chest, ‘’cos in my head, I already quit.’

‘I order you,’ Emerson turned to Bernstein, ‘to stop that woman!’ But Bernstein ignored him and reached down to help the sopping, spluttering Frost out of the pool. Emerson turned to Levine again.

‘Do you have any idea how much it cost,’ he pointed at Annalise, ‘to have her brought back here?’

‘Yeah, like a goddamn piece of meat…’

‘I order everyone,’ Emerson looked around wildly, ‘to obey me!’

‘You knew about Jimmy,’ Annalise perched on the wall, ‘didn’t you?’

‘Jimmy?
Jimmy?
Who the fuck is Jimmy?’

‘You sent me to Bristol on your jet, knowing full well what I would see when I got there. And if I hadn’t caught them in bed, you’d have found another way. But I suppose, on one level, I should thank you.’

‘Goddamn right you should thank me! You gotta lotta be grateful for!’

‘Harry, this is real life, not one of your film sets.’

‘I have too much invested in you to let you walk away!’

She took his ring off and lobbed it at him. Disbelieving, he caught it against his chest. ‘Sorry,’ she sighed, ‘the wedding’s off. I guess it’s the perfect heresy: all these things we’re all supposed to want so badly – success, fame, money – and here I am, just walking away.’

‘We’re abseiling.’ Proctor grabbed her waist. ‘Technically, we’re abseiling away.’ He pushed with his feet and they were out, over the edge. She couldn’t see the bottom of the drop for blackness, so she looked up. Emerson peered after her, silhouetted by spotlights.

‘Do you think we should spend our honeymoon rock-climbing?’ Proctor panted, as he used his legs to bounce them off the wall. ‘You know, sorta symbolically?’ She didn’t answer, just hugged Froggy. His fur still smelled of Whin Abbey. Her feet met the earth. Proctor unhooked her. She could just about see that they were in a lane behind a row of old houses, all tightly shuttered against the night. He led her into the narrow street, where a small hatchback waited. Its indicators flashed. She stopped.

‘I’m not getting in that car.’

‘Sorry,’ Proctor opened her door with exaggerated chivalry, ‘but it’s all they had left at the airport.’

‘I’m not getting in that car, as in thanks, Ben, but see you around.’

‘You’re not serious…’

She waved Froggy at him. ‘You heard her, fall-guy. Say hello and wave goodbye!’

‘Stoppit!’ he snapped. ‘Stoppit with that stupid puppet shit!’

‘Who’s the puppet, fall-guy? Me – or you?’

Even in the darkness, Proctor looked stunned. ‘Look… Emerson could be down here any second with his goons, and I’m not rescuing you a third bloody time!’

She used her own voice now – quiet, deadly serious. ‘But that’s not what you’ve been doing, is it? Rescuing me?’

‘Eh? What would you call it then?’

‘I’d call it more like keeping an eye on me. That night in the train, you said I lived in a pretend world–’

‘Jesus Christ, this is no time to be casting up silly arguments!’

‘ENOUGH!’ she roared. A dog started barking and a shuttered window lit up. ‘As it happens,’ she spoke less harshly, ‘you’re not a bad actor. But I’m better – do you know how I know?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Because you really
do
think that I’m as naïve as I pretend to be!’

He drummed his fingers on the roof of the car. ‘Okay. You’re right. I’ve had enough of this myself.’

‘No more play-acting?’

‘No more play-acting.’

‘If I get in that car, do you promise to tell me everything?’

‘Even better, I’ll show you everything.’

‘Everything?’

‘Everything.’

‘When?’

‘Right now; do not pass go, do not collect two hundred pounds.’

At first, the roads were dark and slow but, eventually, they came to a well-lit motorway and he turned south. They didn’t speak. She didn’t feel excited, just completely worn out, so she reclined her seat and, using Froggy as a pillow, gave herself over to sleep. Waking fitfully, she saw that Proctor had covered her with his jacket. Through the windscreen, illuminated signs for places like Toulouse, Perpignan and Barcelona passed overhead. Somewhere in the Pyrenees, they stopped at a service station, where Proctor downed multiple espressos. He said he wanted
her to know before they went any farther that he was really sorry, then he went outside to smoke – a cigarette, she noticed, not a joint. Wrapped in his jacket and still clutching Froggy, she joined him for one. He looked pale and preoccupied; scared, almost, in a way that she herself did not really feel until around six in the morning, when they finally left the motorway and pulled into a resort-type town by the sea, called Roses.

‘You’re kidding.’ Her stomach tightened.

‘Kidding about what?’ He hadn’t said anything for at least an hour.

‘The name of this place.’

‘Salvador Dali used to live near here – that’s all I know about it.’

‘So this is it?’

‘No. We still have a wee way to go.’

‘Then what are we doing here?’

‘Just passin’ through.’ But he stopped the car in a car park.

She softened her tone. ‘How did you get mixed up in all this?’

He looked at her, his face haggard. ‘I really think it’s better for you to see for yourself; then, if you don’t hate me so much you never speak to me again, I’ll tell you everythin’ you want to know.’

‘Just what I need – a bit of reassurance.’

‘I swore to myself before this started that I wouldn’t get involved. With you, I mean.’

She threw him her most sardonic smile. ‘Maybe what you wanted and what I wanted were two different things – did that ever occur to you?’

‘It sort of is, now – belatedly.’

‘So why have we stopped?’

He opened his door. ‘Bring the frog.’

A low ceiling of cloud obscured coastal mountains, as dawn broke against a wall of bland apartment blocks. She followed
him across the car park into a marina, where he pressed a numbered keypad to open the security gate. They walked across the water on floating gangways. From amidst all the gleaming, shark-like yachts, he chose a modest cabin cruiser. With silent, single-handed efficiency, he got the engine running and cast off, and soon they were surging out across the bay, still headed south. She stood on the rear deck until the land disappeared, then, as Proctor steered, she climbed down a wooden stepladder and inspected the accommodation, which consisted of a cramped galley and, beyond that, a tiny two-bunk bedroom. She rifled the galley cupboards until she found half a bottle of brandy. She poured two stiff drinks and returned up top. He accepted his gratefully.

‘Will I be frightened?’ she asked.

‘If I were you, I’d be torn between curiosity, fear and uncontrollable rage.’

She downed her drink in one and grimaced. ‘Actually, that’s a pretty accurate description of how I feel right now.’ She climbed back down the ladder and crawled into one of the bunks, hugging Froggy tight. She didn’t expect to sleep but, before long, the bouncing rhythm of the boat rocked her off.

The engine had stopped. She had slept for longer than she’d meant to; her left side ached from lying on it. She sat up, stretched, pushed her hair from her face, smoothed Roselaine’s dress as best as she could and took Froggy up top. Ben wasn’t on board, so she stood on the deck, shading her eyes from the strong, high sun. She peered around for him. The boat was tied to a small stone pier in a sheltered cove, the rocky sides of which were a mixture of yellows, reds and white. The sea was an impossible greenish-blue, like something from a holiday brochure. Enormous old pines leaned towards her, as if straining to dive into it. The only sounds were the steady slap of wavelets against the hull and the lazy creak of the bumpers as they rubbed against the pier. Squinting in the brightness, she didn’t see him at first. He must have been sitting in the shade of one of the pines and, when he stood up, the movement caught her eye. He stepped onto the pier as if to greet her, but halted, awkwardly. She stiffened, her feet bolted to the gently moving deck.