Silent Truths (73 page)

Max’s cleverly designed casa was set back from the beach, enclosed by the thick, succulent foliage of a rain forest. Its sand-coloured walls curved around an inner courtyard, where a waterfall splashed over rocks into a deep lagoon pool, and the garden was crowded with dense, rubbery leaves, and purple, red and gold flowers. At one end of the courtyard were the kitchen and sitting room, whose walls were shaped like an inverted 9, with the kitchen in the circle and the sitting room spread out in the tail. There was no front wall to the sitting room, so the springy grass and shrubbery were as much a part of it as the heavy wood furniture and clay-tiled floors. Elliot and Max worked at a long oval table, mobile phones beside their computers, stacks of documents spilling out of the hi-tech printer and fax Max kept at the house.
Every now and again one or other would get up and go and dive into the pool to cool off, ease the tension from their limbs, and give themselves some moments to reflect.

On the opposite side of the courtyard, tucked in behind twisting vines and climbing bougainvillaea, were the round bedroom bungalows, whose outer walls were washed rusty pink and whose roofs were like fans of red tiles. Inside, the decor ranged from ochre yellow to leaf green to dazzling blue. Bright Mexican tiles surrounded the showers and added their own kind of sprightliness to the walls and cupboards. Laurie had set up a small card table in the bigger of the two bedrooms, having pushed the large oak bed to one side, so that the mosquito net could tumble down around her.

As she worked small lizards scuttled around in the shadows while exotic birds chirruped and hooted in the trees outside. Pulling everything together, from the day she’d first met Beth Ashby, to the way her bosses had blocked the story, to how she’d been attacked in her own home and later abducted off the street, to having her parents threatened, to ultimately losing her job, then the details of her final meeting with Beth was having a profound effect on her. In a way it was as though it was happening all over again, and each time she looked up, when Elliot came in with a drink, or if her mobile phone rang, she was slightly startled by her surroundings, for they felt so removed from the events she was writing about that for a few disoriented moments she couldn’t be sure where she was.

Though she was managing more sleep than Elliot
or Max, taking herself into the other bedroom where she could lie on a single bed beneath a net and a fan, her naps were still short, for the damp, penetrating heat seemed to stir her memories into weirdly disturbing dreams. Occasionally she woke up to find Elliot on the next bed, his expression stern in sleep, yet the vulnerability of his closed eyes and loosely clenched hands never failed to make her heartbeat quicken. Sometimes she would just lie there, watching him, longing to go and lie with him, but he needed what little sleep he could get, and with Max still there such physical closeness would only add to their growing frustration.

It was on the morning of the fourth day that she finally finished Beth’s story. After emailing it to Elliot to read when he could, she peeled off her shorts and wearing only the briefest of bikinis, she wandered out to the pool and slipped quietly into the sparkling water. Though she swam several lengths, she soon had to stop, for it was as though the weight of Beth was pulling her down and stealing her breath. She moved into the shade and sat in a deck chair. Though she couldn’t see them behind a luxuriant hibiscus bush, she could hear Elliot and Max talking, and somewhere, from a villa nearby, came the unmistakably vibrant sounds of Mexican music. Her heart felt fragile and full. Being here, in this almost limbo-like world, had made it possible for her to think about Beth in a less painful way than when she’d been in LA, though all the time she’d been writing, it was as though Beth was watching her from the shadows, pressing her for sympathy and understanding, and maybe even forgiveness.

Now, sitting here, shielded by a jungle of exotic trees and flowers, she felt Beth’s power finally starting to ebb, for the story was no longer exclusively theirs, holding them together with invisible bonds. Soon Elliot would read it, then Max, then editors in New York and London – then the rest of the world. It felt right to let it go, though she knew that in their way they would always be linked now.

A shadow fell over her and her heart tightened as she looked up into Elliot’s face. Weariness showed in his eyes, as distinctly as the two-day stubble on his chin. His body, too, seemed tired, yet its strength was as immutable as the blue sky that framed him, and the chemistry they shared was like the powerful tow of the sea. Under his scrutiny all her senses responded, causing desire to slake a long, painful path through her most intimate parts, and a tiny breath of pleasure to escape her lips.

Dropping down in front of her he folded his arms on her knees and looked up at her. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked quietly.

She nodded and reached out to touch his face. He turned his mouth into her palm and kissed it.

‘Have you finished?’ she asked.

‘Just about.’ His eyes came back to hers and she felt herself moving into a tide of longing. Taking her hand he pulled her forward and covered her lips with his own. She knew he was as aroused as she was, and heard him moan softly as she spread her hands over the hard muscles of his chest. Her legs were parted, her knees resting against his hips. His hands moved to her shoulders, down over her breasts to her waist. Then, sitting back on his heels, he took her hands and said, ‘Max is leaving tonight.’

‘I know,’ she whispered.

Their eyes held each other’s with a potency that needed no words, until, slowly bringing her mouth back to his, he penetrated with his tongue, and moved his fingers so gently over her nipples that she wanted to cry out.

Later, after the stories had been read, checked, re-edited and read again, at Max’s suggestion they took a laptop and mobile down to the beach where they ordered margaritas from a bar, then sat under a thatched palapa to wait for their drinks to arrive. The sand was hot underfoot, the ocean heaved and soughed on to the shore, and white clouds, like a mystical mountain range, floated slowly over the horizon. A few locals were repairing nets, or trapping crabs, while a handful of intrepid surfers made the most of the surging tide.

Laurie was sitting beside Elliot. They both wore shorts and the light touch of their legs burned like a caress. She watched his hands, long, elegant, yet strong, as he attached his phone to the computer. As soon as the drinks arrived, he would make the connection to submit their stories.

Max was grinning. ‘If they could see us now,’ he commented.

Elliot and Laurie laughed, as they imagined those who would receive the stories, and where they were at that moment: so far removed in time, distance and even culture, that it was curious, even difficult to associate the two worlds and how they were about to connect.

A waiter arrived with three salted-rim glasses containing the potent cocktail. After setting them down, with a bowl of fresh guacamole and taco
chips, he left menus and returned to the bar.

Elliot began dialling the Puerto Vallarta access number.

Laurie’s breath was shallow, her eyes were watchful and amused. Max was grave, and tapped the ground with one heel. His glance met Laurie’s and his unshaven face showed a glimpse of sardonic humour. After the squeal and crush of connection Elliot looked up from the screen. The sun was beating down; a dozen pelicans swooped in perfect formation. ‘Are we ready for this?’ he said.

Laurie’s fingers slid down the stem of her glass. It was hard to reconcile the complex gravity of their stories with the sublime simplicity of where they were.

‘Go for it, man,’ Max responded.

Elliot positioned the cursor over
send
, then, with a quick flick of his thumb, the stories were simultaneously transmitted to
The Times
in London, the
Wall Street Journal
in New York, and Tom Maykin at his Upper West Side condo. They also went to Elliot’s team in Docklands, and certain contacts in the Bahamas, Hong Kong and Switzerland. In her mind Laurie likened it to setting free a flock of wild birds. None could be captured again, and what effect they might have on the world at large could only be guessed at. She could almost hear the string-bound bundles of newspapers thudding to the ground throughout Britain and the US, dropping like the birds’ dead bodies, before they were opened to reveal the ugly truth behind the currency inflations, the high-powered syndicate that had devised the scheme, and the lonely British
woman whose despair at her husband’s infidelity had perversely brought it all to light.

‘
Vérité sans peur
,’ Elliot said quietly.

‘Truth without fear,’ Laurie translated for Max.

They raised their glasses, faces sombre, yet eyes betraying humour and intrigue.

‘To us,’ Max declared.

‘To us,’ Elliot and Laurie echoed, and they drank.

Laurie’s eyes closed as the tequila and lime stung her taste buds. For some reason the dreamy ballad coming from inside the bar made her think of Beth, and she wondered what it had been like for her and Colin at the beginning. As it was for her and Elliot now? Intense, breathless, rife with erotic fantasy and wonderfully romantic dreams?

Elliot’s tone was droll as he unplugged the phone, and shut down the computer. ‘If they change anything now, the lawsuits are theirs,’ he said. His leg was still against hers and as she drank again she tensed with the pleasure of his hand coming to rest on her thigh.

‘Do you think they will?’ she asked.

‘Change anything? Of course. They won’t be able to resist.’

She was shaking her head in amazement. ‘I always imagined,’ she said, ‘that if I were ever involved in anything this big I’d either be submitting it from the hub of the action, or right there in the craziness of a newsroom. Have you ever submitted anything like this before? I mean, so cut off from it all.’

Elliot smiled. ‘No. I can’t say I have.’

‘What about you, Max?’

‘Me neither,’ he responded, stretching out his
legs. ‘But it’s kind of cool.’

They laughed, then after a while Elliot said, ‘So what next for you, Max?’

Max put down his glass. ‘I’ll tell you what next for me,’ he said, linking his hands behind his head. ‘I’m going after Hank Wingate. The shots I sent you of Beth’s injuries? I took them with one purpose in mind, to nail the bastard that did it.’ His eyes closed as he turned his face to the evening sun. ‘That Texan son-of-a-bitch is sure to have done something like it before, so now I’m on his case, and guess what, he’s going to jail.’

Laurie clinked her glass against his. ‘Power to you,’ she said.

‘And tonight?’ Elliot said. ‘I know your plane’s going to Mexico City.’

‘Final destination, Buenos Aires,’ Max replied. ‘Eloise is there.’

‘Eloise?’ Laurie echoed.

‘My wife. The casa’s hers.’

‘The one we’re staying at?’

Max nodded. ‘She designed it. It’s what she does.’

It was incredible, Laurie was thinking, how other people’s reality could be something so entirely different than imagined, though Max having a wife would account for the unmistakably feminine touches in the casa, like the matching napkins and table mats, the expensive hand-painted plates, the sumptuous pillows and unusual art, the absence of hard corners, and dozens of candleholders that wended a path through the sitting room, courtyard and bedrooms. She smiled secretly to herself, as she recalled the easy communication she’d had with
the maid, Sylva, that morning about those holders.

They finished their drinks slowly, seeming reluctant to part now the time was approaching. Eventually they strolled back along the beach, warm waves foaming round their ankles, palms arching high overhead, while they continued to discuss the story and guess at its effects. The path home wound through the hot, dusty village, where evening was bringing music and people from the protective shade of their homes, and the delicious smell of freshly roasting corn wafted in the still, humid air. They stopped at a stall selling earthenware pots; then at another with skipping ropes, fake leather sandals and second-hand music tapes. As Laurie browsed Max and Elliot kicked a ball with a group of teenage boys.

‘How long before you guys put your phones on again?’ Max asked, as they walked on across a bridge where children splashed in the sandy-bottomed creek, and unfettered horses grazed beside it.

Elliot’s hand reached for Laurie’s. ‘At least a couple of days,’ he responded.

She gave an answering squeeze, and leaned in closer to his shoulder. The time for them was fast approaching and despite her nerves a very strong part of her was wishing they’d arranged for a taxi to take Max to the airport.

However, when Max was loading his bags into the rented Jeep half an hour later, and Elliot held her very close as they kissed a temporary goodbye, she felt glad of the hour she now had to prepare, for she wanted to make this the most special night of their lives – so far.

*

After listening to the Jeep jolting away down the narrow dirt road she went first to the larger of the two bedrooms, where Elliot had already moved the bed back into place, and took a cool, refreshing shower, before wrapping herself in a flimsy sarong and clipping her hair on top of her head. Then she checked her face in a mirror that was lit by the coloured lights of a paper toucan lamp. Her eyes were shining, and the delicate glow on her skin was like burnished honey.

Her heart was pounding a faster beat as she wound her way across the courtyard to the kitchen where she found the boxes of candles Sylva had smuggled in that morning. The holders, spread out all over the house and garden, were in tall, handcrafted stands, or round, filigree pots, jazzy ceramic dishes, Aztec pyramids, and moulded granite slabs. They decorated pillars, tables, rocks, the pool edge, the steps to the bedrooms and the bedrooms themselves. After filling them all she returned to the kitchen, not ready to light them yet, she’d wait until just before he was due to get back.

The barbecue was already set up for him to grill the swordfish Sylva had left in the fridge, and since he was the gourmet cook Laurie had happily agreed to leave it to him. Her contribution was merely to prepare a salad and set the table. Her hands weren’t quite steady as she broke apart a crisp, curly lettuce. Her head was whirring with so many thoughts and her chest becoming so tight, that she poured herself some wine to relax. Though she’d been planning this virtually since they’d arrived, wanting to make everything as beautiful
and romantic as possible, now that it was upon her she was feeling much too apprehensive, and even daunted by the thought of his worldliness which would make her own small experiences seem almost naïve by comparison. She took another comforting gulp of wine, then went back to the bedroom to get the tapes she’d bought earlier in the village. The fact that they’d been there had been too auspicious to ignore.