Kiss Heaven Goodbye Part 30

'It's b.l.o.o.d.y over, isn't it,' said Sasha, her voice cracking. 'There's no one else to go to.'

'Chin up, Sash,' said Philip bullishly. 'Look around you. We're in one of the greatest financial capitals of the world. Somewhere nearby is someone with money to invest in the company; it's just a matter of finding them.'

She forced a smile. He was being kind; he was always kind. After their flirtatious beginning at her parents' anniversary party, Sasha had discouraged any romantic interest, but to her surprise, Philip had stuck around. It had been strange at first Sasha had never had a platonic male friend before; in fact, working in fas.h.i.+on, she didn't have many real friends at all beyond the kissy-kissy, 'see you at the next party' variety. But Philip had been a rock, happy to give up his weekends to help her draft a comprehensive business plan, celebrating the completion or refinement of every draft with suppers at Pucci Pizza, drinks at the Hollywood Arms or just a video and popcorn in his small Chelsea Harbour apartment. It was actually nice to have a friend without any of the s.e.xual complications; Sasha wondered why she hadn't done this years ago.

Philip stuck his arm out, flagging down a cab.

'Listen, I'll bet you're starving,' he said.'Come back to mine, we'll get a takeaway and work out how to crack this.'

'I'm way behind on work for the label,' she said, shaking her head. 'I really should get back.'

'Oh no,' said Philip firmly. 'You can't wriggle out of it that easily. I'm not having you moping all night when I bet the answer is staring us in the face.'

It was true, she was hungry. She hadn't eaten all day, partly through nerves, partly because she had been so busy preparing for the meeting.

They ordered Chinese from the cab using Philip's mobile, and it was there by the time they arrived. Philip arranged the cartons on the rug in the living room and laid the business plan out next to it.

'So let's look at this logically,' he said thoughtfully. 'The banks are a no-go without a big injection of your own cash. What other avenues can we try?'

'Are you sure your dad isn't interested?' said Sasha, reaching for the noodles. She'd never met Leo Bettany, but she still hadn't forgiven him for making her father redundant. His selfish att.i.tude to his kids hadn't helped; although Philip had all the polish of a successful Young Turk, not a penny had come from his father. Leo Bettany believed in leaving his children to their own devices and had vowed to bequeath all his wealth to charity.

'Tried him,' said Philip sheepishly.'He says he only invests in areas he understands that doesn't include c.o.c.ktail dresses apparently. Besides, you're a friend of mine, which definitely counts against you.'

He sat up, pursing his lips. 'Look, we need at least a million pounds' investment and the banks have refused us,' he said. 'There's the venture capitalist firms, but they usually like dealing with bigger investments.'

'So let's ask for more money.'

'And give up seventy per cent of the business?' He shook his head. 'I don't think that's the way to go. I still think we need to chase down private investors, despite what happened with Razzi. Investment is about people, and you are definitely the right person to turn Ben Rivera into everything it can be.'

'Sweet of you to say,' she said. 'But no one seems to agree with you.'

Philip paused for a moment.

'Look, I have about two hundred thousand pounds of my own funds we could put in,' he said. 'Private investors might be more willing to look at you if we put in some capital of our own.'

Sasha stopped and gaped at him, a spring roll halfway to her mouth.

'You'd really do that?'

'Well, when you first told me about your idea, I was sceptical. But that was before I knew you, before I knew how determined you are, what a taste-maker you are, how special you are.'

'You're a sweetheart, you know that,' said Sasha with sincerity.

'Everything you've done over the past few months, everything you've helped me with ... I don't know how to thank you.'

She felt the atmosphere in the room change. Dusk was settling across London, and while Philip's apartment was small, it had floor-to-ceiling windows with a view right across Chelsea Harbour. Suddenly Sasha was very aware of the soft glow of the setting sun filling his living room.

'You know how you can thank me,' he said quietly.

It was true. She'd steered their relations.h.i.+p towards friends.h.i.+p not because she didn't find Philip attractive, but because she couldn't handle the distraction. She'd learnt the hard way that men were bad news, that love was a false promise. Even s.e.x came with a price. She didn't need it. She didn't need any of it.

'You're a nice guy, Philip, but ...'

'What's wrong with the nice guy?' he said, stretching over, his fingers touching hers.

G.o.d, why does he have to be so b.l.o.o.d.y handsome? she thought, feeling her guard slip. He brought his hand to her face, cupping it gently, then slowly, very slowly, lowered his soft lips for the most tender of kisses. she thought, feeling her guard slip. He brought his hand to her face, cupping it gently, then slowly, very slowly, lowered his soft lips for the most tender of kisses.

She s.h.i.+vered; both antic.i.p.ation and fear. She'd had s.e.x only once since her episode with the D&D advertising executive three years earlier. It had been on a work trip to Italy and he'd been a macho Milanese fas.h.i.+on executive; the experience had been stiff, painful and awkward to the point where she faked an o.r.g.a.s.m after just a few minutes to get the whole thing over with. But this wasn't like that, not at all. As Philip slowly unb.u.t.toned her s.h.i.+rt and unclipped her bra, she groaned, pus.h.i.+ng her firm b.r.e.a.s.t.s towards him. She wanted him, wanted his touch, wanted it hard and fast. But Philip was in no hurry. For someone who had so obviously wanted her for so long, he was maddeningly slow, taking each moment leisurely to kiss, taste and savour every inch of her body, his tongue discovering secret pleasure spots she had never even known existed. The tip of his finger circled her nipple, delicately at first as it hardened to his touch, then when it was ripe he lowered his mouth, sucking and gently biting. He repeated it on the other side, then kissed down her belly, swirling his tongue around the insides of her thighs. Waves of white-hot desire rippled from her belly before he had even entered her. But then he was inside and she was crying out in pleasure, her hands gripping the rug, her feet kicking the takeaway cartons across the floor. The o.r.g.a.s.m that was building from her throbbing, molten core was so deep, so electrifying, so blissfully, blindingly exquisite, she pleaded with him to stop. When it was over, she relaxed into the curve of his body, enjoying his musky, manly scent of s.e.x and sweat, and the feeling of sweet, satisfying release.

'That was every bit as good as I hoped it was going to be,' he said, his face silhouetted in the low light.

She nodded, realising that the deep knot of tension and anger inside her was no longer there.

Her eyes stared at the ceiling.

'I know who I can get the money off,' she said slowly. She hadn't wanted to ask him, although from the start he was the obvious person. But having s.e.x with Philip, creating a new bond with someone who made her feel safe, galvanised her to do it.

'Well that's fantastic,' Philip breathed into her ear, reaching around and cupping her breast, his finger and thumb getting to work on her hardening nipple. 'But it'll wait until morning, won't it?'

Sasha gave another gasp of pleasure and turned back to him.

Yes, she guessed it would.

32

'Where's Gabriel?' snapped Isabella, sweeping imperiously into the hall. Grace had already searched the whole of the ground floor of El Esperanza. His cousin's wedding was due to start in forty-five minutes and the church was at least half an hour's drive away. It was one thing waiting for the groom to be kept waiting by the bride, but not by random members of the family.

'I'll look upstairs,' said Grace, hitching up her long silk dress to climb the steps.

'When you find him,' called Isabella after her, 'please tell him that I am leaving for the church in exactly five minutes, whether he's coming or not.'

Grace ran into his study, her heels clattering on the stone floor. Gabriel was sitting in front of his computer, wearing jeans and an unb.u.t.toned white s.h.i.+rt, furiously making notes on a yellow legal notebook.

'You're not even changed?' she gasped.

Gabriel glanced up, then went back to his notes. 'I don't know if I can come,' he said distractedly.

'You're kidding.'

'CBS want to interview me tomorrow,' he said. 'I'm just waiting for the producer to call and confirm.'

'Gabriel, it's your cousin's wedding in less than an hour! The interview can wait.'

'The interview can't can't wait, Grace,' he snapped. 'It's the election in three weeks' time.' wait, Grace,' he snapped. 'It's the election in three weeks' time.'

'Yes, and CBS is an American American cable channel.' cable channel.'

'A very influential American cable channel.'

Grace squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to explode.

'Go without me,' he said finally.

'Fine,' she sighed, walking to the door. 'Do you want to give me the present, then? I can take it to the wedding along with your apologies. '

Several months ago, Grace had found out that Gabriel's cousin Amelia had first met her fiance at an exhibition of Luis Marquis, one of Parador's most prominent sculptors. She and Gabe had commissioned him to make a small piece as a wedding gift for the happy couple.

'What do you mean, do I want to give you the present?' He frowned.

'You said you'd pick it up from the Marquis studio yesterday after your meeting at the CARP office.'

'Oh s.h.i.+t,' he whispered. 'I completely forgot.'

'It's fine,' she said tersely, turning away.

'Grace, it doesn't matter.'

In the scheme of things, it probably didn't matter they could have it sent over after the wedding but it was just one more thing which reminded her that life outside politics just didn't exist for Gabriel any longer.

She ran back downstairs, willing herself not to cry. Caro was waiting for her at the bottom.

'What's wrong?' asked her friend, kneeling down to tie pink ribbons around Olivia's pigtails.

'Oh, Gabe forgot to pick up the wedding present when he was in Palumbo yesterday.'

'Don't worry, I can go. I wasn't really invited to the church service anyway. I'm only in it for the party.' Caro grinned.

'Do you mind? Take Gabe's car. We were going to take it, but there's been a rethink. I'm going with Isabella. We'll see you at the reception.'

Caro ushered the twins towards their mother and gave them a stern look. 'Now you be good for cousin Amelia, OK? No shouting out in church.'

'Yes, Caro,' they chorused solemnly.

Grace suppressed a smile. Who'd have thought her wild Kiwi roommate would have become such a great mother hen?

Caro ran outside while Isabella pulled on her cream taffeta coat.

'Let's go,' hissed the older woman. 'If Gabe's not coming-'

She never finished her sentence. There was a split second when all the air in the room seemed to expand, then a white flash followed by a deep sickening boom that Grace felt in her chest. She was thrown into the steps, her arms still around the twins. She was dimly aware that she was covered in tiny pieces of wood and gla.s.s and that Olivia was lying on top of her screaming, but the noise seemed to retreat around her as if she was underwater. She pulled Joseph to her; he was bleeding from his forehead and shaking violently. Then, in a rush, the noise came back and everywhere was shouting and running footsteps and the crackle of flames.

'Grace! Are you all right?' For a moment, Grace didn't recognise Gabriel and drew the children closer to her. 'It's OK, baby, it's me, it's me,' he said soothingly, pulling her up and sitting her on the marble steps.

Unable to reply, she looked down and was horrified to see that her arms and legs had been lacerated by gla.s.s from the shattered windows. The huge double front doors had been blown clean off their hinges; beyond that, all she could see was thick billowing smoke that had engulfed El Esperanza's courtyard.

'Oh my G.o.d, Caro ...' She staggered to her feet and ran to the door.

'Grace, don't go out there!' shouted Gabriel, his arms tight around the children. She ignored him and ran out into the bright courtyard. A hundred feet in front of her, Gabriel's car was now a ball of twisted metal and flame. She s.h.i.+elded her face from the intense heat.

'Caro!' she screamed. 'CARO!' Then she sank to her knees, sobbing, knowing that there was nothing she could do to save her friend.

Gabriel grabbed her and pulled her back from the burning car. 'Don't look, don't look,' he whispered.

Grace couldn't breathe, couldn't take it in. She She should have been in that car. They should have been in that car. They all all should: her, Gabriel, the twins. They should be dead, not her friend, not Caro. should: her, Gabriel, the twins. They should be dead, not her friend, not Caro.

'Oh G.o.d,' she said, turning her b.l.o.o.d.y, tear-marked face towards Gabriel. 'What have we done? What have we done?'

33

According to the police, it had only been a matter of time before a car bomb took out a senior member of CARP. It was a popular method of murder in Parador. During the troubles in the seventies, not a week had gone by without a judge or politician being eliminated in this way, and twenty years later it was the chosen a.s.sa.s.sination method of the drug cartels. The fact that it had happened within the grounds of El Esperanza, where they spent hundreds of thousands of US dollars on security, had shaken the entire family to the core not just for the questions it raised about their own safety but for the future of democracy in Parador. If their enemies could reach right into the heart of their organisation, they could get to anyone, anyone at all.

In the days that followed Caro's murder, Grace had walked around like a ghost. With security breached and El Esperanza badly damaged, she had taken the children to their house high in the hills, where they had been under twenty-four-hour armed guard. She played with the twins, she dressed her wounds and she tried her best not to fall apart. Despite Gabe's appeal that she carry on and help him provide a united front in the run-up to the elections, she could barely bring herself to get out of bed in the morning. Racked with guilt, she played endless games of 'if only': if only Caro hadn't come to Parador, if only Grace hadn't asked her to work at El Esperanza, if only she hadn't asked her to pick up that sculpture. If only If only. You could drive yourself mad with that game.

There was no body to take back to New Zealand, but Caro's family were holding a memorial service in their home town. Grace had been surprised when Gabe had insisted they all go and take the family jet, although no opportunity was wasted: a CNN film crew was at the airport to see them off.

Caro's family lived in a small town forty miles from Christchurch airport, where the rich green rolling countryside reminded Grace of rural Oxfords.h.i.+re on a particularly lush hot summer's day. It was a beautiful part of the world and Grace wondered why Caro had spent half her life running away from it; then again, Grace knew about the desire to run away from a life that, on the face of it, seemed perfect.

They drove straight to the church, a white clapboard jewel on the outskirts of the village, a for the small and discreet service, followed by a wake at Caro's parents' farmhouse. Isabella's PA had checked them into a luxury lodge a short drive away from the church, where they were to stay the night before returning to Parador. Gabriel immediately went out on to the balcony with the telephone and began talking intensely, so Grace unpacked their few belongings and put the twins to sleep in the two travel cots. There were still a couple of daylight hours left, and in the distance she could see a river glistening silver, so she knocked on the adjoining suite and asked if Isabella could sit with the twins while she got some fresh air.

Although it was February, it was New Zealand's summer. The air smelt crisp and full of promise and new life. Grace grimaced at the irony of it. She walked away from the lodge across an emerald meadow and sat on a bench on the river's edge. She had eaten very little all day, but still she felt nauseous. In the church, she had not been able to shake off a terrible sense of shame; it was like some physical weight pressing down on her. If only If only.

Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned. Gabriel had changed out of his sombre funeral suit into jeans and a blue s.h.i.+rt that made his skin look more olive and golden.

'We have dinner reservations at seven thirty,' he said. 'Apparently the restaurant at the lodge is excellent. We need to be refreshed for the flight home, anyway.'

'I'm not hungry,' said Grace, looking away.

'Why not?'

'Why not?' she snapped. 'We've just been to my best friend's funeral, that's why not. The funeral of a friend who was murdered at our house with a car bomb meant for us. Is that enough?'

'She was unlucky,' said Gabriel quietly.

'Unlucky?' Grace hissed. 'Gabriel, she's dead. Dead Dead. She died and we lived, don't you feel bad about that?'

He looked at the ground but didn't speak.