had ever been able to expunge the memory of his lovely Ellie, or even remotely take her place. But, at least he had the twins. He thought of Jamie and Steve, back home in the States, and instantly the pain lessened, as it always did. And wherever Ellie was now, if there was such a thing as an afterlife, then she knew their boys were loved and safe and protected, and would be for all the days of his life. His mind lingered on his sons and then he made an effort to rouse himself, attempting to push aside the despondent mood which had descended on him so inexplicably.
After a while he felt more composed, and he started to check the figures in front of him, but he had no sooner begun on the second column than a loud knocking on the door disrupted the silence. Surprised, he looked up and frowned. That’s the fastest room service I’ve ever had in this hotel, he thought, striding to the door. He jerked it open, and his jaw dropped.
Nicholas Latimer was standing there, propped up against the door frame, grinning from ear to ear.
‘Sooner than I think indeed!’ Victor exclaimed huffily, glaring at Nick. But his mouth began to twitch with laughter.
‘I know, don’t say it! I’m a bastard and a childish one at that, pulling this assinine trick on you,’ Nick declared. They grasped hands and embraced roughly, and Victor said, ‘Well, don’t stand there, you clown. Come on in.’
‘I took the first plane from Paris this morning. I just checked in a while ago,’ Nick said, his wide grin intact. ‘When I called you I was already in the suite down the hall, as you’ve probably guessed. Couldn’t resist it, kid.’ He ambled into the sitting room and glanced around. ‘Mmmm. Not bad. I like this better than the other suite you had, it’s more your style.’ Nick lowered his long, lanky frame into the nearest chair, slumped down into it, and threw a manilla envelope onto the coffee table with casual grace. ‘I tried to call you last night, but you were out. So –’ He shrugged. ‘Well, I decided to fly in. I thought I’d surprise you.’
‘You succeeded. And I’m glad you’re here. I just ordered coffee. Do you want some? How about breakfast?’
‘Just coffee. Thanks, Vic.’
Victor went to the telephone and Nick stood up and took off his sports jacket. He draped it over the back of a chair and sat down again. His icy-blue eyes, usually twinkling and full of mischief, were contemplative, and the grin that gave his boyish face a puckish quality, was missing. He looked across at Victor, and his face softened with fondness. He had been right to pack up in Paris and come to London. This was too important to discuss on the telephone. And two heads are infinitely better than one in this kind of situation, he thought. He lit a cigarette and stared at the burning tip, wondering how Victor would receive the news he was about to impart. With equanimity? Or would his Latin temperament get the better of him, as it sometimes did when he was thwarted. Of course, Victor would be angry, and with good reason, but he had a reservoir of self-control and the ability to sheath his emotions when he so wished. Nick decided it could go either way.
Victor sat down opposite Nick, his eyes focused on the envelope. ‘Is that the second draft of the screenplay?’ he asked.
‘It sure is, kid. It’s more or less finished. I have a few changes to make on the last six pages, but I can do that tomorrow. In the meantime, it’s all yours. You can read it later.’ He fell silent, drawing on his cigarette. ‘I came in a couple of days earlier than I’d planned because I wanted to talk to you,’ he said finally.
Recalling Katharine’s words on the previous evening, Victor said, ‘You’ve heard of the telephone, haven’t you?’ He smiled at Nick. ‘Don’t answer that. Obviously you have something important to say, or you wouldn’t be here. Not with Natalie stashed in Paris. Or did you bring her with you?’
‘No. She’s not in Paris either. She had to go back to the Coast to start her new picture. She left in the middle of this past week.’ Nick eyed the rolling cart holding bottles of liquor and soft drinks. ‘I don’t think I want coffee after all. I’d prefer a drink. How about you?’
Victor peered at his watch. ‘Why not. The pubs are now officially open, so I might as well start pouring. What do you want? Scotch or vodka?’
‘Vodka with some tomato juice. And fix yourself a stiff drink. I believe you’re going to need it.’
Victor, who was half-way to the bar, swivelled, staring hard at Nick. He said carefully, ‘Oh. Why?’
‘I’ve given you the good news about the screenplay.’ Nick attempted a smile, but it faltered instantly. ‘But we’ve got a problem. A really serious problem.’
‘Let’s have it.’ Victor picked up the bottle of vodka and proceeded to make Nick’s drink.
‘Mike Lazarus is in Paris –’
‘Lazarus! But I spoke to him only last Wednesday and he was in New York,’ Victor cried. He carried the drinks back to the seating arrangement in front of the fireplace, and sat down.
‘Maybe so. But right now he’s well ensconced in the Plaza-Athénée.’ Noting the surprise registering on Victor’s face, Nick exclaimed heatedly: ‘You should know what he’s like by now, Vic! When you’re the president of a multinational corporation, as he is, you’re ubiquitous. And he thinks nothing of hopping onto that private plane of his and hitting the sky as casually as though he’s driving down the Los Angeles freeway.’ He lifted his glass. ‘Cheers.’
‘Down the hatch.’ Victor fixed his eyes tightly on Nick. ‘I have the oddest feeling you’re about to tell me Lazarus is on the war-path. About the picture. So what? I’m ready for him. And I’ve told you before, I can deal with him. Believe me, I really can.’
Nick raised his hand. ‘Wait, Vic. Just hear me out, please. You’re right. Lazarus is on a rampage. He’s also heading for London –’
‘How come you’re so well informed about Lazarus? And what he’s up to? How do you know so much?’
Nick said slowly, choosing his words with care, ‘You know, life is full of surprises, and it can be awfully ironic. Do you remember Hélène Vernaud, the Dior model I used to date?’
‘Sure. The tall brunette with the stunning figure and the great legs.’
Nick could not resist laughing. Trust Victor to remember a beautiful girl. ‘Let’s forget about her figure. She happens to be a graduate of the Sorbonne and the London School of Economics, and she is extremely astute. In fact, she’s a hell of a lot smarter than most people I know. Anyway, as you know, we remained friends after we split up, and I called her when I got to Paris three weeks ago. We had lunch, a few laughs remembering old times, and all that jazz. Halfway through lunch she asked me what I was writing. I told her I was doing the screenplay of Wuthering Heights. For you. She immediately became tense and strained, even a little agitated, much to my amazement. She then blurted out that she knew something about the picture because she was involved with its main backer, Mike Lazarus. To tell you the truth, I was floored. But, not to digress. Hélène begged me not to mention our lunch. Apparently Lazarus is very jealous and keeps her on a tight rein.’ Nick stood up. ‘I need another Bloody Mary. Can I fix you a Scotch?’
Victor declined, then asked, ‘What’s a beautiful, bright, high-class girl like Hélène doing with that slimy snake-in-the-grass Lazarus?’
‘God knows.’ Nick returned to his chair. ‘In any event, I promised her she could rely on my absolute discretion, should I have the misfortune to be in Mike Lazarus’s company in the near future. We finished lunch in a more relaxed manner, and that was that. Natalie flew in from Hollywood for a few days, and I forgot all about Hélène and her involvement with Lazarus. Until yesterday morning. She called me from her mother’s apartment, sounding very secretive and nervous, and asked me to meet her there within the hour. I didn’t know what it was all about. Obviously. But I think enough of Hélène to trust her judgment. I’m glad I do. Last Friday she was having dinner with Lazarus in his suite at the Plaza-Athénée, when he received a call. It was either from New York, or the Coast, Hélène wasn’t sure