Kiss Heaven Goodbye Part 49

'There's a s...o...b..x on the sideboard,' shouted back Maureen. 'Just got letters in it. You can leave them on the side.'

Alex bounced down the stairs in three jumps and went to the sideboard, emptying out the box. As he put the letters down, a few slid to the floor and he bent to pick them up.

'Christie's?' he said to himself, seeing the logo on one letter. He felt his heart begin to pound.

'I've only got fig rolls ...' said Maureen, walking through holding up a packet. She stopped abruptly when she saw her son holding the letter.

'What is this, Mum?' Alex said.

'Just a check-up at the hospital.' She tried to smile, but her eyes were full of pain.

Alex had been past Christie's Hospital dozens of times on the bus. It specialised in cancer treatment. 'This isn't a check-up, Mum,' he said, looking at the letter. 'This is asking you to report to admissions. '

'I just need some chemotherapy.'

'Just some chemotherapy?' said Alex. some chemotherapy?' said Alex.

Maureen had walked back into the kitchen and began opening the biscuits with jerky movements. 'Stupid things ...' she muttered.

'Mum. Just stop for a moment,' Alex said, putting his hand on hers. She dropped the packet and began shaking. He put an arm around her and gently led her to the kitchen table.

'Tell me, Mum,' he said, sitting down opposite her.

'The doctors want to try the chemo first before they do the surgery. I think they want to try and shrink the tumour.'

Tumour. His mother had a tumour.

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'I didn't want to worry you. Not before I knew if it was serious. Everything is going so well for you and Melissa and I didn't want to burden you. Jean and Brian were going to come with me to the hospital.'

'Jean and Brian are your next-door neighbours,' he said angrily. 'I'm your son.' He clutched her hand. 'Listen, you're coming back to America with me. We're going to get you the best treatment available. '

'Alex, Christie's is one of the best cancer hospitals in the country. I'm lucky, really.'

'Don't be such a f.u.c.king martyr!' he shouted, banging his fist on the kitchen side.

He saw her alarm and took a deep breath. 'I'm sorry, Mum,' he said, his voice pleading. 'I just want to make you better.'

'I'll be fine, love,' she said softly. 'It's going to be all right.'

He rested his head on her shoulder and began to sob, feeling ashamed and alone as she stroked his hair and held him tight.'Don't you worry about a thing,' she whispered. 'We'll get through this together.'

We have to, thought Alex. Because she's all I've got left Because she's all I've got left.

56

April 2008

The flight from Dubai arrived earlier than expected. Miles' dinner with the sheikh had been cancelled due to 'pressing state business', so he was on the ground at City airport before 9 p.m. As his Bentley left the terminal, it was tempting to go straight to Soho. He felt he had been neglecting the Globe over the past few months. Yes, Chrissy seemed to be doing a good job, but it never did any harm to keep an eye on things, keep the staff on their toes. He imagined the look of surprise and fear on their faces as he walked in, as the barman fumbled to get his drink on the bar, as the buzz went around the club. And then he imagined all the people who would want to talk to him. 'Miles! How are you? Now about that investment opportunity ...' 'Long time no see, any chance you could help me out with the planners?' 'Miles, you said you'd call ...' And that was before the manager and the sommelier and the receptionist would want to talk to him about budgets and restocking and members.h.i.+p queries.

Screw 'em, thought Miles, leaning forward to his driver. 'Take me home,' he said.

Their house in Notting Hill was sumptous. Three rooms on the ground floor had been linked to create a sunken living-c.u.m-entertaining s.p.a.ce with a huge kitchen diner overlooking the garden, accessed by French doors which folded right back for summer parties. The garden, too, had been landscaped to make it a series of enclosed areas where guests could sit and drink or smoke. There was even a sunken hot tub which cast a blue-green glow up the side of the house, adding to the atmosphere.

Miles let himself in and threw his keys on to the hall table. The house was quiet, only a few lights on probably just on the timers. Chrissy would be at the club until midnight at the earliest and Miles felt a little rush of excitement at being home alone. He chuckled to himself as he walked into his study: simple things simple things. The problem with success was that you were never alone. Everyone wanted a moment of your time, to make decisions on a current project or to talk about plans for the next one. Then there was the endless schmoozing of politicians or socialising with useful contacts. In Dubai, where refusing hospitality of any kind was considered a terrible snub, that claustrophobia had been tripled. Not that it had been a ch.o.r.e. Miles could feel that the opening of the Laing resort in Dubai was going to be a triumph, and he had plans to use the same formula for super-luxe getaways in Mexico, Cape Town and Rio.

He poured himself a brandy, then flopped down in his favourite squashy leather armchair. He kicked off his shoes and scrunched his toes in the carpet. Bliss Bliss. He'd had this study built as the ultimate man-cave, with a walk-in humidor and every kind of sports, movie and p.o.r.n channel piped into the entertainment system, but he'd rarely had time to take advantage. He grabbed the remote control for his plasma-screen TV. His thumb hovered over the 'on' b.u.t.ton as he heard voices. He c.o.c.ked his head. No, not just voices, distant laughter. G.o.d, I hope the neighbours aren't going to have some sort of b.l.o.o.d.y party tonight G.o.d, I hope the neighbours aren't going to have some sort of b.l.o.o.d.y party tonight, he thought.

He got up and walked in his stockinged feet out of his study and down to the kitchen. He didn't turn on the lights didn't want to alert them before he could see what was going on. But he could tell straight away that it wasn't the neighbours. The laughter was coming from his own garden there was someone in the hot tub. The pool lights had not been switched on, but he could see the dim turquoise glow of the water and the steam coming off the surface. Making sure he was hidden in the shadows, Miles crept closer, until he could see. It was Chrissy, her hair wet and slicked back; her shoulders were under the water, but he could see she was topless. And her arms were around Bill Loxley, the general manager of the London Globe.

Miles' fists clenched. Only a few years earlier, he would have exploded, but he was bringing his vicious temper under control. A road-rage incident two years ago plus innumerable verbal attacks on staff members had made him seek help from a celebrity shrink who taught him 'coping techniques'. He closed his eyed and inhaled through his nose.

Had he known? He and Chrissy had spent days, sometimes weeks apart, and when they were together, they were often at each other's throats. But that was just the way married couples were, wasn't it? Similarly, their s.e.xual relations.h.i.+p, so pa.s.sionate in the beginning, had dwindled to nothing; surely that too was a common thing in marriage, especially after fifteen years? But the honest answer was no, Miles hadn't known. In fact, the thought of Chrissy wanting, needing another man had never entered his head. But of all the people to choose: Bill Loxley! He was an employee employee. What he made in a year wouldn't even cover Chrissy's clothing allowance.

Opening his eyes, he watched Bill's hand snake round the back of his wife's neck, stroking her shoulder, looking into her eyes. Miles felt sick, genuinely nauseous. He'd much rather he'd caught them in flagrante; the easy and intimate way they laughed together in the blue s.h.i.+mmering water was harder to take. They looked like a couple in love.

He stepped backwards, padding away into the darkness, quickly grabbing his shoes and coat and turning off the lights. As he was heading for the door, he stopped and went back into the study, emptying his brandy gla.s.s and wiping it clear. He didn't want anyone to know he'd ever been there. Out on the street, he quickly walked around the corner and pulled out his mobile phone, his breath puffing in the cold air.

First he called for his driver, then he scrolled down to Michael Marshall.

'Michael,' he said, surprised at how calm he sounded. 'Sorry to disturb you so late, but I was wondering if I could just pop round? I wanted to test your knowledge of UK divorce law.'Four weeks later, Miles was standing on his private terrace in the penthouse of the Dubai Laing, gazing out at the Arabian Sea s.h.i.+mmering like a sheet of black onyx in the moonlight. It had been a good day. A very good day. A 737 had s.h.i.+pped in the creme de la creme of London and New York to the launch of the latest Laing Resort. People of taste, influence or simply celebrity, they had each been given one of the 'restricted suites' with huge open-plan living s.p.a.ce and personal spa complete with full-time ma.s.seur and private thirty-metre pool with direct sea views. Pampering, first-rate service and a gorgeous room, followed by a decadent no-holds-barred party on the beach: that was the way to spread the word about the unrivalled luxury of the Laing. A hotel was only as good as its reputation, and after today's launch, everyone everyone was going to want to check into the Laing. was going to want to check into the Laing.

He heard footsteps and turned as Michael Marshall approached him carrying a gla.s.s of champagne.

'Are we celebrating?'

Michael nodded. The Dubai sun had bronzed his face, bringing out the colour of his eyes. In a blue s.h.i.+rt and cream trousers he looked liked Cary Grant. To his surprise, Miles felt himself becoming aroused, or maybe that was the thought of what was about to come.

'They disappeared to the Bridge Suite about an hour ago and have just returned downstairs,' said Michael, handing Miles a disc.

'Good,' said Miles, sipping the wine. 'Give me twenty minutes and then send Chrissy up to see me.'

Miles finished the champagne watching the party scene below him. It was still in full swing, but for him, at least, it was over. He showered and changed into his silk pyjamas and monogrammed slippers. He heard the door open just as he was walking back through perfect timing.

'Hey,' said Chrissy. 'Michael said you wanted me. Are you OK?'

'Fine,' said Miles, handing her a gla.s.s of champagne. 'Great party, by the way. You did very well.'

Chrissy had made such a success of the Globe clubs, Miles had felt no qualms about bringing her on board for the development and launch of the Laing ventures. She had been invaluable in softening and feminising his design vision for the Las Vegas hotel, and in sole charge of the opening night, she had struck the perfect balance between glitz and discreet luxury. Here in Dubai, she had once again shown her talent, making full use of the resort's amazing pool and beach area, keeping the dress code casual 'no shoes' and handing out Slush Puppies and hot dogs. Yes, the Laing is sumptuous and elite, she was saying, but it's also somewhere you can have fun. Chrissy had really turned into an a.s.set. She was worth having around, but only if he could keep her under control.

'So why did you want me?' she asked.

'I wanted to talk to you about something. I want to renew our vows.'

Chrissy's face gave nothing away, she merely raised her eyebrows. 'Why would we want to do that, Miles?'

He smiled thinly. 'Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for. "Darling, what a wonderful idea", perhaps, or "I can't wait to tell everyone". Not "Why?"'

Chrissy took a sip of her champagne. 'Well, things haven't exactly been brilliant between us recently, you have to admit that.'

'Then what better way to get through this rough patch?' said Miles. 'We can have a fresh start; it will be just like the old days.'

Chrissy laughed wearily. 'The old days are long gone, Miles, long gone.'

Miles shook his head and looked at her for a moment, then raised his gla.s.s in salute.

'Have it your way,' he said. 'You can't say I didn't try.'

'What do you mean?'

He picked up a remote control and clicked a b.u.t.ton. The wide-screen television flickered into life, showing a single shot of two people making love. Chrissy's face flushed with embarra.s.sment and anger.

'You and Bill seem to have had a particularly good time at the party,' he said, turning down the volume as the o.r.g.a.s.mic groans grew particularly loud. His wife looked sh.e.l.l-shocked.

'I'm in love with him,' said Chrissy finally.

'How touching,' sneered Miles, clicking off the picture. 'Shame it can't go on.'

'Don't blame Bill,' she snapped.'This is your fault. If you'd shown the slightest interest in me over the last few years, maybe I wouldn't have had to go to another man. And Bill is is a man, Miles.' a man, Miles.'

The colour drained from his face.'What's that supposed to mean?'

She shook her head. 'Don't you think I know, Miles? You're gay.'

He looked at her scornfully. 'You're being ridiculous.'

'How many d.i.c.ks have you had in your mouth? Is that how you like it? Or do you prefer to give? Pretend that you're still a man that way?'

He smiled callously. 'I really don't think you should be throwing stones in this particular gla.s.s house, Chrissy. You've built yourself a very comfortable life here, but it doesn't take much to destroy someone's reputation. The Hastings past, the junkie brother, the sordid little lesbian shows in p.h.u.ket. I could go on.'

She looked pale. 'I've told you before, I was just a dancer ...'

'Don't be so b.l.o.o.d.y nave!' he snapped. 'Do you think any of those girls you worked with who you performed performed with would keep quiet for you? All it took was a few baht.' with would keep quiet for you? All it took was a few baht.'

'It's lies!' she cried. 'I never did anything like that.'

'I know everything, Chrissy,' he said fiercely. 'You f.u.c.k people for money. That's what you've been doing since the second I laid eyes on you.'

She stuck her chin out defiantly. 'I want a divorce.'

Miles laughed in her face. 'Divorce is out of the question. I can't have that sort of distraction when we're at such a delicate stage of our expansion. It wouldn't go down well here. Dubai is a very moral country.'

She snorted. 'What would you know about morals?'

His expression softened and he raised his hand to touch her face. He'd known she wouldn't take this lying down.

'I do love you, Chrissy,' he said. 'We're good together. Look what we've built.'

She glared at him. 'You really expect me to go along with this? Play happy families with you?'

'Think of it as playing a role, pretending to be something you're not. You've always been good at that.'

'You really are a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, aren't you?'

Miles gave a small smile. 'It has been said. Oh, and one other thing, Chrissy.' He walked over to the desk and picked up a doc.u.ment.

'What's this?'

'A post-nuptial agreement.' He put the paper on the table next to her and twisted his Montblanc fountain pen open. 'You see, my father was right about protecting the family interests, and, well, it was the exuberance of youth getting married without doing that.'

Chrissy picked the doc.u.ment up, scanning it, her eyes growing wider as she read.

'Take my word, it's a fair agreement,' said Miles. 'In the unlikely event of a divorce, you will receive a ten per cent share in Globe Holdings with a ten million ceiling. Don't let anyone ever say I haven't appreciated all your input into the business.'

'You are kidding me?' she gasped. 'Ash Corp. is worth billions!'

'Yes, it is, but I think ten million pounds is a fortune for a hooker from Hastings, don't you?'

'You can't do this.'

'Oh, I can,' said Miles. 'You see, if you don't sign this now, I am calling the police.'

'The police police?'

'You'll be aware that infidelity is a criminal offence in Dubai. Punishable by twelve months' imprisonment, I believe. It's rarely upheld for foreigners unless a strong complaint is made to the authorities, but, as you know, I am very well regarded in the United Arab Emirates. And once the Dubai authorities see this DVD, I'm sure they'll want this sort of behaviour held to account.'

Chrissy ran at him screaming, her fingers clawing at his face, but Miles caught her wrists and flung her into a chair.

'I won't do it!' she hissed, her eyes blazing. 'This is blackmail! I'll fight it every inch of the way.'

'You'll be fighting it from a jail cell, and I hear the conditions in prisons over here are pretty grim. Mind you, I'm sure they'll be interested in your lesbo show.'

'f.u.c.k you, Miles!' she shouted.

'No, f.u.c.k you,' he spat, grabbing the contract and the pen and shoving them into her hands. 'Did you really think you could screw me over, flaunt your affair with some underling in my face? No, you've f.u.c.ked up, Chrissy, and there's a price to be paid. Now sign sign.'

She looked up at him, her face a mask of hate. Then her shoulders slumped and her head hung down. She took the pen and signed the contract. Miles picked it up and slipped it into a leather doc.u.ment folder, then locked it in the safe. When he turned back, Chrissy was looking at him like a wolf with its leg caught in a trap. Which I suppose she is Which I suppose she is, he thought.

'Please understand, this is just protection, Chrissy,' he said in a soothing tone. 'It's going to be far better if we work with each other rather than against one another.'