Lovers and Gamblers (85 page)

The airport was crowded, people bustling back and forth meeting, greeting, hiring cars, buying souvenirs, or just standing around. Cody saw a couple of people he knew – a fellow agent who a couple of months ago wouldn’t have bothered to give him the time of day, and a minor actress who greeted him like an intimate friend. He could swear he had never met her before.

Linda walked over to the magazine stand to pick up the newspapers.

‘Who’s your friend?’ the agent asked admiringly. ‘I like her style.’

Proudly Cody followed Linda with his eyes. She
did
have a lot of style. She looked coolly chic in a white safari suit, her jet hair pulled severely back, and purple-tinted shades hiding her eyes.

‘Linda Cosmo,’ Cody replied, ‘a photographer from New York.’

‘Sure,’ said the agent enthusiastically. ‘I’ve seen her work. She’s got a six-page spread in
People
this week. I never realized she looked like that… You want to trade numbers?’ He indicated his actress, who, as if on cue, broke into a large toothy Californian grin and said in a flowing Southern accent, ‘You all know if they’ve cast a new
Man Made Woman
yet? I don’t usually test, but I got to thinking that maybe I might – you know – just for once. It’s a perfect part for me.’

Cody had yet to meet an actress who didn’t think every part written was the perfect one for them.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘As far as I’m concerned, it’s a little early to start putting in a replacement.’

‘Early?’ hissed the agent. ‘You don’t think they’re gonna
find
that Dallas broad, do you?’

‘As a matter of fact I am flying to Rio now.’

‘Why – anything new happen?’

‘No – but…’

The agent laughed. It was more of a rude sneer than a laugh. ‘Chasing a dead client – come on – that ain’t gonna put shekels in your pocket. She’s dead, man – face it. That plane probably crashed into the sea – they’ll never find it.’

It was not the first time that this sentiment had been expressed to Cody – although perhaps not in such harsh terms.

His mother, over a cold fish dinner the previous evening, had clutched him warmly by the hand. ‘I think if she was alive they would have heard something by now,’ she offered. ‘Better she’s dead than in the hands of those foreign maniacs.’

The two theories given wide news coverage were either that the plane had strayed off its flight path and crashed, or that some sort of terrorist organization had managed to hijack it.

The crash theory was now gaining the most strength. The plane had been missing five days. If a ransom demand was to be made it would have been done by now.

Cody bid a curt goodbye to the agent and actress, and joined Linda at the newsstand.

She waved a newspaper at him. ‘Page three,’ she said in disgust. ‘From headlines to page three.’

‘It’s old news,’ replied Cody wearily.

‘If only we knew… Oh God… If only we
knew
…’

* * *

Jorge did not want to show the earring to Evita. Did not want to be forced to admit that perhaps he had been wrong – that perhaps Cristina
had
been sharing Nino’s bed. Evita’s positive identification of the earring would prove facts that Jorge did not wish to face.

Wasn’t it bad enough that his daughter was missing – probably dead. He couldn’t even begin to come to terms with
that
. Cristina was the best thing that had ever happened to him – an extension of his love for Evita – more, really, because while Evita was his wife, she was also a separate entity – another human being – a person from an entirely different background. Of course that didn’t bother him – never had – but Cristina was his own blood. She was all he had. She was the other children Evita had not been able to have. The son that was never to be.

Jorge swore softly under his breath and turned to look at his sleeping wife lying beside him. How beautiful she was, but he was glad that Cristina resembled him and not her. It would be somehow incestuous to have a daughter the image of your wife – besides which, he was proud of Cristina’s dark earthy looks. She was a born Maraco through and through. No one could dispute
that.

He had returned to the house late the previous evening and slipped quietly into bed so as not to disturb his wife. Thank God Doris Andrews had arrived when she did. She had been a tower of strength, looking after Evita day and night, moving in to the spare room to be near her. What a magnificent friend she had turned out to be.

Evita stirred in her sleep, turning restlessly and pushing the covers from her. The beige satin nightgown she was wearing had slipped from one of her breasts. Ordinarily Jorge would have been instantly aroused. But not now – in fact it irritated him, and he pulled the covers over her and left the bed.

He knew he was not being supportive towards his wife. He knew he was rejecting her at the time she needed him most – but he had to go through this alone. Cristina was somehow more his than hers – maybe it was the strong resemblance – maybe it was the fact that she was his only child. Who knew? Whatever it was, his grief was personal and could not be shared – with anyone.

He shaved and dressed, then went in his study and wrote a brief note to accompany the earring which he left on Evita’s bedside table. He wanted to go straight to Carlos’s office. Today might be the day they got some news.

Silently he left the house, climbed into his Maserati and drove quickly away.

Doris Andrews watched him from the guest bedroom window. She waited a few minutes, then smiling softly to herself she padded along to Evita’s bedroom. She locked the door and climbed into the space that was still warm from Jorge’s body. Confidently she waited for Evita to awaken.

* * *

Talia Antonios strode purposefully down the street. She was a tall, arrogant-looking girl clad in a smart brown linen suit. Her red hair was cropped close to her head, and she wore very little make-up.

She swept into the building that Carlos Baptista owned and took the elevator to the eighth floor which housed his private suite of offices.

A secretary glanced up at her. ‘Yes?’

‘I have an appointment,’ Talia said. ‘Ten o’clock.’

‘Oh, yes – Señor Baptista said for you to go right in.’ The secretary indicated the way.

Talia strode through the door without bothering to knock.

Carlos, sitting behind his desk, was quite startled by the girl. For a start she was exceptionally tall, and secondly she bore down on him so intensely that he thought for a moment she was going to sweep right round his desk and hit him. She had that kind of look about her. Tough and uncompromising. Carlos was pleased that the chief of police and Jorge Maraco were stationed in an adjoining office with a tape recorder. She was only a woman – but there was something horribly violent about her – betrayed in her icy grey eyes. On the telephone he had sensed this. Known by instinct that here was someone who really did have some information for sale. She had requested that they meet alone. No police. Nobody official.

She paused at his desk and glanced around the office. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she said. Hardly the opening line he had been expecting.

‘A walk?’ he blustered. ‘What are you talking about? You said on the phone a private meeting – well, here we are alone in my office. What could be more private than that?’

‘Plenty of places. The information I have for you is for your ears alone. After I’ve told you, then make your own decisions. For all I know this place is bugged. So we either walk – or forget the whole thing.’

Carlos hesitated. He wasn’t sure what to do. But then he decided a walk would be all right – after all, as soon as he left the office the Police Chief would have his men watching his every move. The girl couldn’t kidnap him – the hidden fear of every rich businessman in South America.

‘If that’s what you want, we’ll walk then,’ said Carlos, getting up from behind the desk, ‘but I hope what you have to tell me is worth the trouble.’

Talia nodded. ‘I think you’ll agree it is.’

* * *

The city of Rio de Janeiro was as beautiful as Linda had always expected it to be. She only wished that she was visiting under different circumstances. Her New York agency had suggested that she do a photo story on the trip as soon as she had told them she was going. ‘No!’ she had protested, ‘it would be ghoulish.’ But she had brought her cameras anyway – she never went anywhere without them.

Why had she and Cody come there? It wasn’t as though they could
do
anything… But somehow it was comforting to be nearer. Someone would have to identify the bodies when they were found… If they were ever found…

For the first time, sitting on the plane earlier, she had finally faced the fact that Paul, Dallas, Al, Evan… were all dead.

She had desperately tried to remember the last time she and Paul had been together… Really together. But all she could come up with was Tucson, and Melanie bursting in on them. Before that was just a blur of airports and hotels and parties.

She wanted to cry, but tears wouldn’t come. And Cody was sitting beside her, enquiring after her welfare every two minutes. He was starting to drive her mad with his niceness. It was too much. Right now she would have preferred a parking boy or a Rik – someone who was not personally involved and would act accordingly.

The phone in her hotel room buzzed. It was Cody. He had contacted Carlos Baptista and a car would be picking them up in an hour.

‘He wants us to dine at his house,’ Cody said.

‘I didn’t realize this was a social trip,’ Linda replied coldly.

‘It’s not. Apparently something has come up and he wants to tell us about it.’

‘They’ve found the plane?’

‘I don’t know. We’ll find out soon enough. Is your room all right? Do you need anything?’

Yes – I need to be relaxed – I need to be fucked. ‘Everything’s fine,’ she replied. She was tempted to tell him what she really wanted, but somehow she felt he wouldn’t understand.

She sighed deeply. Men she could have relationships with would never understand her needs. They would be shocked at how strong her demands could be at times… Most men enjoyed sex. But no man enjoyed the thought that he might be used as a sexual object. Yet wasn’t that the way men had treated women since time began?

She half thought that she might call Cody back… But no… he wouldn’t understand.

* * *

Cody replaced the telephone. It was unfair of Linda to take her rattiness out on him. None of this was his fault. He was as destroyed as anyone about it. If he hadn’t sent Dallas off to Palm Springs she might never have got it into her head to go chasing after Al King in Las Vegas. And if she hadn’t gone to Vegas… then no South America… No plane crash… Maybe it
was
all his fault…

Anyway, he had thought he and Linda had something good going. Had was the operative word – it all seemed to have gone sour.

He thought of banging on the communicating door – but what for? To get another knock back.

Instead he picked up the phone again and placed a call to Los Angeles – better he should take care of business.

* * *

Evita examined herself in the mirror. The same ivory skin, smooth features, pale blond silky hair. Her eyes were still blue, her breasts voluptuously full.

She looked exactly the same. Glacial, proud, arrogant. A simmering iceberg.

She stared at herself for a while longer – and she hated what she saw – hated the cool blonde perfection that so betrayed her background.

It would all come as such a shock to Jorge. He had always thought of her as so utterly and absolutely his. The thought had probably never entered his head that she was capable of being unfaithful to him. He owned her, didn’t he? He had rescued her from a life of poverty. At best – if not for him – she might have become a waitress – a shopgirl – or because of her exceptional looks, perhaps – and it was only a perhaps – a rich man’s mistress or high-class call girl. At the start of their marriage he had often told her these pertinent facts. The thought of ‘what a wonderful thing he had done for her’ was instilled daily. After all she had so much to thank him for. He had bought her parents a house in São Paulo and moved the entire family there. He still, even after seventeen years, paid them a monthly allowance.

Of course, she never saw them. Jorge had thought it best that way. ‘Forget about your beginnings,’ he had told her. ‘Your marriage to me is the beginning.’

‘My poor little girl’ was the pet name he called her as he instructed her in the intricacies of making love. ‘Lie like that – legs spread – wider – wider – just like that, my poor little thing.’ And he would sink his body into her, sighing with pleasure all the while.

Occasionally – if the mood took him – he would tweak her breasts for a minute at a time. But not enough to get her in the mood – never enough.

He liked her to kneel on all fours whilst he took his pleasure from behind.

He liked her to suck on his penis for hours on end.

In seventeen years of marriage he had never given her an orgasm.

Oh, he was generous in other ways. Clothes, furs, jewels. She could have whatever she wanted.

But in all these years… Often she had wondered what it would be like with another man… But Jorge loved her – in his way. He trusted her… He
had
saved her. How could she do that to him?

And then Doris had happened… Doris who caressed her body into molten liquid. Seeking and finding with her tongue every pleasure spot ever invented.

Oh, God… Evita shuddered with joy at the very memory. And yet… how could she feel anything at a time like this?

She continued to stare at herself until she felt a self-hate so strong that it overwhelmed her, and she had to turn away from her own reflection.

How could a woman whose daughter was missing – presumed dead – be so heartless as to embark on a new and frighteningly exciting affair?

It was an impossible situation. If… when Jorge found out… he would want nothing more to do with her. Nothing. And she could not blame him.

Her eyes filled with tears and spilled down her naked body.