Tall Poppies (16 page)

‘Jack?’ Elizabeth asked, scrambling to her feet.

‘All right, Elizabeth. I’m not pushing you.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, hoping she didn’t sound disappointed.

Taylor gestured to her boots. ‘Fix your bindings and we’ll get back.’ He unhooked the ski-pole from her left wrist and handed her his own pair.

‘I don’t need these—’

IZ9

‘Take them,’ Jack said.

She didn’t argue.

When they reached the Pass Thurn skiing area, Ronnie Davis and the other British girls were standing by the gondola station, waiting for them.

Elizabeth glided to a halt and offered Taylor back his ski-poles. He hadn’t said a single word to her all the way down.

‘Right on time,’ Ronnie said. ‘We’re going to head back to the hotel. So, Jack, how was she?’

‘She was the best female skier I’ve even seen,’ Jack said, without looking at her.

‘Thanks for helping me practise,’ Elizabeth said, blushing.

‘My pleasure, ma’am,” Taylor replied softly. He nodded to the British team, turned, and schussed away down the mountainside.

‘God, he’s so gorgeous,’ Janet sighed.

‘That guy was made in heaven,’ Kate added wistfully. ‘I see you lost a pole, Liz. How was the training?’

Ronnie asked.

Elizabeth’s eyes were following Jack’s tiny black figure as it plunged away to the south.

‘Oh, pretty quiet,’ she said.

When they got back to the hotel there was a telegram for Elizabeth. Tony wished her luck. The dry, restrained language was a message from another world. The Cup was so intense, so focused that Elizabeth had almost forgotten about the real world below the mountain peaks. She was certain that her success this year would be enough for the FIS, but still … Dragon was the family company. Dragon was what she wanted. It was x98o now; maybe she could change Tony’s mind ….

Just one more reason not to fail today. More pressure to perform.

Hans Wolf found her clutching the crumpled scrap of paper when he arrived in her room. He pulled it out of

her grasp and tossed it on to the bed.

‘Tony and Monica wrote.’

‘So I see.’ Wolf scowled. ‘Today you do not need distractions.’

‘My father will be so pleased if I win this,’ Elizabeth told him.

‘Child. You cannot control your father. Business is business, but skiing is life,’ the old man told her, so seriously Elizabeth had to smile. ‘Think about your company tomorrow, Liebchen. Today is for the mountain. Today is for me.”

‘Oh, Hans, you’ve been so good to me,’ Elizabeth said tearfully. :What if I let you down? I screwed up yesterday.’

‘The only way you let me down is if you do not try. Do your best. Not for me, for your father, even the gold. Just because you are a skier, and this is the greatest race in the world.’

The foot of the course was a zoo. Press, radio and TV crews from all over Europe were jostling for position, shouting out reports in ten different languages. Elizabeth waited with the others tO hear her draw - it might be anywhere in the top fifteen numbers, the earlier the better. Heidi Laufen was drawn number three to thunderous applause from the Swiss in the crowd. Elizabeth was drawn number fourteen.

She shrugged elegantly to the BBC cameras, but she was very disappointed. Fourteenth versus third. A bad, bad position. A bad omen?

Looking graceful, polished and stunning in her signature rainbow suit, Elizabeth tried not to show her nerves.

131

It was always bad before a race, but this time she had eels writhing in her stomach. A few hours ago she’d been close to death. She’d lost an easy slalom yesterday. Heidi Laufen was hitting perfect form.

Her parents were watching, Hans was watching, the

world was watching …

‘How’s it going?’

Elizabeth jumped out of her skin.

‘Jack, don’t sneak up on me like that!’

‘I wasn’t sneaking, baby. You were miles away.’ Jack Taylor was wearing dark jeans, cowboy boots and a black windcheater with the Stars and Stripes embossed on the pocket. Goggles had been replaced by black Wayfarers. He looked just as impressive off skis as

on.

The memory of his hands on her breasts sent a stab of wanting right through her. Under the sheer Lycra, her nipples tightened.

She saw Taylor watching them.

‘It’s cold, isn’t it?’ Elizabeth said quickly.

‘No,’ Jack said, giving her a lazy smile. The sun was blazing down on the slopes.

Elizabeth blushed and tried to cover herself. ‘I got

number fourteen,’ she said quickly.

‘I heard. But it don’t matter.’

‘What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? I—’

‘Forests, ravines, avalanches,’ Jack said, cutting her

off. ‘Remember? This is a walk in the park.’

‘For you.’

‘For both of us,’ Jack replied. His easy air was infuriating.

‘Oh yeah?’ Elizabeth snapped. ‘That’s just great, Jack. Anything else?’

‘Yes, there is.’ He touched the side of her waist, pressing her skin. ‘You were lying up there, sugar. You do know me.’

I3Z

An official marched up and tapped her on the elbow.

‘You should go to the start gate now, my lady.’ ‘Elizabeth,’ Jack said. ‘What?’

He looked her right in the face. ‘Just ski. Everything else is talk.’

Heidi Laufen made the run of her life. Jumping, schussing, hugging the treeline on the Stemmle stretch. It must have been perfect snow for her, Elizabeth thought jealously, as she heard the shrieks of joy, the football whistles, the ringing cowbells drifting up from below. The TV screen outside the start gate told its own story. Heidi made a textbook run. Dismayed, Elizabeth watched the spinning numbers freeze as she shot through the finish line. A new record. Position: first.

Waiting” was eternity. Elizabeth took deep breaths, tried to stay calm. She studied the TV, watching the other top seeds, trying to get a feel for the course. Kim Ferrell came in second for the US. Then Louise Levier pushed her back to third. The Austrian and French champions were quick, too, but Heidi held firm at the head of the table, four seconds clear of Levier.

Then finally her number was called. Instructions, technique, layouts raced through her mind as she settled into her starting crouch, .waiting for the bell. Trying to remember everything …

The countdown finished. Three, two, one …

And then, as Elizabeth thrust off down the mountain, Jack Taylor’s voice drowned out the’theory, lust ski.

The run fell away under her, a steep drop before the first two gates. Sharp swings, right, left - and now she was hitting the Mausfalle, sheer ice plummeting down, her stomach flipping over as she hit the hundred-andfifty-foot jump. If she turned right she’d jet into the trees. Flying by pure instinct, Elizabeth ski’d straight ahead.

33

She was going too fast for thought. She hit the Panorama turn like a bullet - i8o° left - throwing herself into it with her whole body, dragging herself round. The run soared over a hill and she twisted rightwards, ready for the Steilhang - hard left, then down through the forest, reaching the Woodcutter’s Path. Her head rattled inside her helmet, the sounds of the shrieking crowds deafening her. Now the Stemmle stretch - if you played safe here you’d slow right down. Elizabeth swung hard towards the net, hugging the line, going I4o kill per hour. A crash at this speed could maim or kill, but she felt no fear. She was soaring. Off at the Alte Schneise - nearly over, but here you could drop precious seconds if you lost position. Elizabeth held her crouch rock solid, every muscle screaming as she rode the bumps - Larcheschuss, swerve right - a huge jump by the Hausberg! Elizabeth took it high and hard. Landing swiftly, poles tucked under her arms, she could see the finish - a racing crouch down the Zielschluss, she was almost prostrate now …

She fired past the finish line, heart ricocheting under hr chest, and sliced to a clean halt.

Panting, Elizabeth tore off her helmet and spun round, as the press did, as Louise did, as Heidi did, waiting for the announcement. She’d been fast. But how fast?

There was a second’s silence as the dry Austrian tones announced the time.

Then pandemonium. Cameras flashing, reporters thrusting forwards, Hans fighting to get to her, and Elizabeth burst into tears.

She was twenty years old. She had just won the World Cup.

As she was swallowed up by TV cameras, Elizabeth caught sight of Jack Taylor, hanging back by the netting. He nodded once, calmly. And then they both smiled.

Tony Savage stirred restlessly in his bed. The girl in front of him looked as pretty this morning as she had last night - slim, silky legs, large breasts, glossy hair the colour of candied chestnuts - but he felt no desire. He was done, and it was six a.m.

He slipped carefully out of bed. Camilla didn’t stir; he didn’t want her to spoil things by waking up and starting to talk. She was a great lay, but that braying voice annoyed h4m. Not to mention the whining she was likely to do with it.

Tony dressed quickly. He kept one eye speculatively on the fuzz between Camilla’s legs, but his mind was already elsewhere. His research team were presenting today on slimming drugs. It was the holy grail of pharmaceuticals. The first firm to develop a safe slimming drug would own the biggest moneyspinner since aspirin. Conventional wisdom was that it couldn’t be done, but Tony didn’t believe that. And then there was Elizabeth. Her demands to work at Dragon were getting more insistent, and this time, she had some leverage. She was World Champion; famous. If she made a fuss, the press would notice it. Run stories. Embarrass him. Dredge up the past…

A quick burst of anger sizzled through him. Blackmail, it was blackmail. Liz wouldn’t let it go. Standing there in Kitzbihel, a gold medal round her neck, defying him. Like Louise …

With an effort Tony pulled his mind away and fastened his cufflinks. Nothing for it, he’d have to fob her off.’

3 5

Maybe a taste of work would actually calm Elizabeth down. Switzerland had settled her, hadn’t it? And there was Jack Taylor, a Texan, lots of money, Harvard. Apparently interested. He could do worse; Taylor was no duke, but then again, America was thousands of miles away. If he could pack DeFries’s bastard off to the South, maybe he could forget about her. Those Southern men kept their women in line. Yes, maybe it would be expedient to keep Elizabeth sweet, for once.

Tony’s elbow knocked a crystal champagne flute on to the ground. There was a dull thud on the thick carpet, but it was enough to wake Camilla. He sighed as she propped herself up sleepily, magnificent tits swaying slightly as she turned to accuse him.

‘ ‘Darling, you’re not leaving already! It’s only, my God, it’s only six.’ The horsy Berkshire tones turned plaintive.

‘You were going to leave without saying goodbye …’ ‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ Tony said coldly. ‘When will I see you again?’

‘I’m not sure. I’ll call you today.’

‘When?’

‘When I can,’ Tony said, and let himself out of the suite. He could shower and shave at the office; there was always a freshly pressed outfit ready for him there.

Downstairs in the lobby Tony settled the bill. ‘Have breakfast delivered to my guest at half-seven.’ He wanted her out of there, but there was no point in being too harsh. Breakfast was a neat way to say it.

‘Very good, my lord.’ The receptionist’s face was as blank as a discreet British hotelier’s could be.

‘Send up some champagne and some flowers. Not roses.’

‘Yes, m’lord. Any message?’

‘No,’ Tony said, passing over his gold Amex.

As he strode out to a waiting taxi, the clerk shook his head in admiration. No false names, separate s.uites or

136

embarrassment for Caerhaven. You had to give it to his lordship, he was a cool bastard. Flowers and champagne; he wondered lasciviously just how the latest bit of fluff had earned them.

‘Where to, guy?’

Tony relaxed slightly as the cab drew away from the Ritz and headed down Piccadilly. At this time in the morning traffic was sparse; they should be on the South Bank in less than ten minutes. He made a mental note to ring Camilla before lunch and finish with her. A pair of diamond earrings, a line about feeling guilt towards Monica, that should do it. He was bored of her; she was clingy and tiresome when she wasn’t performing. And good as she was, he’d had better. She wouldn’t cut up rough if she knew what was good for her. Her father worked gor one of his subsidiaries, her brother for another. Anyway, Camilla was pliant and nervy, another reason he’d picked her:

Tony had other business this morning. First, a quick call to Los Angeles, to check in with Jax, out on the West Coast. Get the vibe on New York; the stock was jittery on the Street and he wanted to know why. Also, to see if their latest crop of bright boys had come up with anything in the initial brainstorming period.

The Dragon building loomed massive in the predawn twilight. Tony paid the cab and stepped into the deserted place, nodding at the security guard’s obsequious greeting. He ordered coffee, toast, marmalade and crisp bacon sent up from the kitchen and then took the executive elevator to his private office. It was good to get in early; it added to his intoxicating sense of control. Today the frisson of power was particularly enjoyable. He felt lustful. Wondered about Camilla’s replacement. Whoever she might be.

I37

Nina walked in to work feeling nervous. She knew she wasn’t alone there: every man of the new Dragon intake had submitted their reports on Friday. Jax would have leafed through them this weekend and today they got their results. Everyone was on a two-monther, so unless you got it renewed today, it was a case of clear your desk and sayonara.

She was wearing a short dress with a cropped jacket, cream cotton with navy piping, and navy pumps. She’d taken extra care this morning with her make-up, her dark hair and eyes set off with subtle shades, charcoal around the eyes, matt plum lipstick and tinted moisturiser to smooth out the .skin. Her thick, dark hair had been cut and curled under at the edges in a sleek pageboy. If she