Breaking the Rules

  Pandora sighed heavily and looked out of the window. The charming little garden at the back of the town house looked bleak, wintry, even though it was only mid-October. And that was how she felt at this moment . . . bleak. And worried about her husband of fifty years.

  “Hi, Caresse, it’s me, M. I just got all these urgent messages from you. Is there something wrong?”

  “Oh, hello, M! Glad you called back. There’s nothing wrong. I must see you, though. I need to talk to you about something . . . vital.”

  “I’m all ears,” M said, laughing, relieved that Caresse did not have more problems to cope with. There had been so many. “Tell me now.”

  “I can’t. I’m very busy here. Lotta photography going on at the studios. Stop by when you finish at the cheesecake place. Can’t you do that?”

  “Larry’s not well, he’s had the worst flu, and he’s still rather weak. I’ve been looking after him. I want to get back to him as soon as possible.”

  “Please come over. Ten minutes, that’s all I need. Please,” Caresse pleaded. “It’s very important to me.”

  “Okay, I’ll come for ten minutes. You know I’ll always try to help you when I can, Caresse. Look, I’ll be finishing at the café around five. I’ll get there a bit after that.”

  “Thanks, M, thanks loads. You’re cool, we’re cool, and you won’t regret this, I promise.”

  Startled, M exclaimed, “Does this have something to do with me?” She sounded curious and suddenly wary.

  “No, no! Not at all,” Caresse fibbed. “Why do you think it is?”

  “Because you just said I won’t regret it.”

  “Oh, that’s just a saying I picked up lately. What I meant was you won’t regret doing a good deed. Honest, that’s all,” Caresse lied, knowing that she would soon be giving M the surprise of her life. The thing was she wanted to tell her in person because she wanted to witness her happiness when she heard the news. It was about time somebody was happy around here. God knows, she wasn’t.

  “See you later then,” M answered.

  “You betcha!” Caresse hung up the phone, a huge smile on her face, the first in weeks, and her step was a little more lively when she went into the big studio to check on what was happening.

  Seventeen

  Larry had loved surprises since his childhood—getting them and giving them. And now, as he sat at the desk in the library, gazing at the ring in its dark blue Harry Winston box, he wondered if M would be surprised.

  He was never quite sure with her. Did she think he was teasing her when he kept making announcements about getting married, suggesting dates and proposing honeymoon destinations? Or did she believe he was being serious?

  Certainly she appeared to take everything at face value, responding in kind, going along with him as if he were making real plans. Which of course he was. He had never been more serious in his life. He was going to marry her at Christmas, and he couldn’t wait to make her his wife because he loved her to distraction. He felt lost and lonely when she was not with him, bereft was the best word to use.

  He held up the ring to catch the light. And it radiated brilliant blue. It was a superb Burmese sapphire, flawless, cushion-cut and mounted in platinum, with two diamond baguettes on each side. An extraordinary ring. He could only hope she liked it. M had never answered him when he asked her what kind of engagement ring she wanted, because she thought he was joking. But he wasn’t. After looking at various stones, he had selected the sapphire because it was one of the most beautiful examples he had seen in years. It would suit her. It was a classy ring for a classy lady, and she had made favorable comments about Caresse’s sapphire engagement ring.

  Smiling to himself, he placed the ring in the box, slipped it into his trouser pocket, and hurried out to the kitchen. Of course she would be surprised, and of course she would love the ring, what woman wouldn’t? After putting a bottle of Dom Pérignon in the fridge, he returned to the library, still thinking about M. He could hardly wait for her to arrive.

  Once he had thrown two extra logs on the fire, Larry picked up the film script which his agent had sent over by messenger earlier that afternoon. He began to read, finding himself quickly caught up in the truly superior dialogue and intriguing plotlines.

  After half an hour, he leaned back in the chair and laid the screenplay on his lap, looking off into space. He might well do this movie. It was as good as his agent had said it was, and it had immense style. He hadn’t worked for over a year, and he wanted to get back in the saddle, was suddenly itching to tread the boards or emote in front of a camera. Besides, he would soon have a wife to support.

  A wife . . . what a lovely thought that was. But only because it’s my darling M, he added to himself. My beautiful, darling M.

  “I don’t think I like the way this conversation’s going,” Geo said in a cold tone, frowning across the table at Dax.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, come on, don’t play dumb with me. You’ve more or less just said that Laurence Vaughan is a drug addict.”

  “I didn’t say that!” Dax cried vehemently, looking at her askance. “All I said was that I’d heard rumors he had a problem with prescription drugs. Several years ago.”

  “But why are you telling me this now, if it was several years ago? Shouldn’t the matter be forgotten? After all, saying things like that can ruin somebody’s career.”

  “I did not say he was an addict, or a cokehead, or anything resembling that,” Dax hissed at her, leaning over the table. “I only mentioned prescription drugs.”

  Georgiana was silent. She picked up her latte and took a sip, glanced around the Starbucks café near Eighth Avenue, where they had met a short while before. It was half empty, but Dax had a stage voice that carried. She now wished that she had agreed to see him at her brownstone, as he had suggested. But she was expecting James around five, and she didn’t want Dax there when he arrived. It might look strange, certainly it could be awkward.

  Dax put his hand on hers resting on the table. It was a conciliatory gesture. “I mentioned it because, well, because I’m fond of M, and I wouldn’t want her getting . . . in over her head.”

  Geo glared at him and said in a low voice, “If you think I’m going to tell her any of this, you’re mistaken. It’s none of my business. Nor is it any of yours, as a matter of fact. I just hate it when people gossip. It’s dangerous, can cause untold harm and pain.”

  “Geo, calm down, for God’s sake! I wasn’t gossiping. I was merely passing on something which came from a reliable source, and—”

  “Iris Ingersoll, I’ve no doubt.”

  “No, it wasn’t Iris. And look, I’m not out to hurt anyone, certainly not M, you know I’m fond of her. Listen up, honey. I was once, and not so long ago, your lover. We even talked about marriage. Now you sound as if you don’t trust me. What’s wrong with you? Why are you so accusatory?”

  Geo let out a long sigh. “I do trust you, Dax, and I’m sorry I was angry just now. I feel very protective of M. I know she gives off an aura of sophistication, and certainly she knows a great deal about everything and everyone. I just have a feeling she’s . . .” Geo paused, shrugged. “I have the feeling she’s a little inexperienced in certain ways, and I sometimes think that she’s been protected most of her life.”

  Dax nodded. “I’ve felt the same at times, but I think we’re both wrong about her. She can be extremely tough about certain things, I’ve noticed, and she’s got enormous willpower. Anyway, I thought—” He lifted his shoulders helplessly, spread his hands. “What I thought is, Forewarned, forearmed. M once said something to me which struck me as rather clever. I remarked how well informed she was, and she said, with a knowing smile, ‘Information keeps you safe.’ So there you have it. I was passing information on, and by the way, I never said you should tell her anything. I was talking to you, and sort of . . . looking for your input.”

  “I know she’s tough, and extremely smart, and in a bad situation you c
an be sure she’ll go for the jugular, but there have been those odd moments when I’ve seen something . . . well, oddly enough, very trusting about her.”

  “That’s it exactly!” Dax exclaimed, sitting up in the chair, staring at Georgiana. “Almost innocent.”

  “What else did your . . . informant tell you?” Geo asked.

  “That Larry had lost a lot of work because of his . . . problem. Some producers thought he was a risk, that they might not get insurance on him. . . . I’m talking movie producers, by the way.”

  “I understood. James and I have had supper with M and Larry a few times and been to the theater, and he seems perfectly normal. Sober, calm, not hyper or on a high, or anything like that.” Geo now smiled for the first time and said sotto voce, “And you can be sure she wouldn’t put up with it if there was any suggestions of drugs. M would go berserk. She’s very intolerant that way. Haven’t you noticed she hardly drinks anything, and she appears to be very straitlaced in some ways.”

  “I think you’re right,” Dax agreed, relieved Geo had calmed down.

  “Who told you about Larry’s former—” Geo stopped, made little motions with her fingers and gave him a probing look.

  “I don’t mind telling you, because I know you will keep a confidence. It was Colin Burke, the English actor I met on the Coast. The one who introduced me to Iris, in a sort of roundabout way.”

  “I see.” Geo sat back, looking contemplative, and after a moment, asked, “He didn’t indicate that Larry had any problems now, did he? Or trouble getting work?”

  Dax shook his head. “No, and even though Colin’s gay, he’s definitely not bitchy. I promise you that.”

  “So basically, all this . . . stuff we’ve been discussing happened some years ago. Right?”

  Dax nodded and then went on to talk about his play, realizing this would be a much safer topic.

  Caresse had a huge smile on her face when M greeted her in the reception area of Farantino Studios, and there was no doubt in M’s mind that something important had happened, and that it was definitely something good.

  The petite young woman with her elfin features and spiky red hair was more like her old self today. Certainly the gloomy, frequently sorrowful expression she had worn since Frankie’s fatal crash had miraculously disappeared.

  “You’ve had good news, haven’t you?” M asked. “It’s written all over your face.”

  Caresse nodded, and still smiling, she said, “Come on in, take off your coat, and I’ll tell you about it over a cuppa tea.”

  M started to laugh. “I don’t always have tea in the afternoon, you know, so there’s no need to have the kettle on the boil every time I come over here.”

  “I know that, but I’m addicted to your lemon tea. I guess I just picked up your habit, and I have it every day.”

  The two women walked through the reception area, across the largest of the studios, and into the kitchen. Here M sat down on a tall stool and Caresse started to fuss with the teapot, packets of tea, and mugs. She couldn’t wait to tell M about Luke’s two phone calls that day, but she wanted to make the tea first.

  Looking across at Caresse intently, M asked, “So, what’s happened? Have you finally had an offer for the studios?”

  “No. Unfortunately.” Taking a deep breath, Caresse went on almost breathlessly, “My good news has to do with you,” she cried, no longer able to restrain herself.

  “Me?” M frowned, looking puzzled. “What on earth do you mean?”

  Caresse giggled, then blurted out, “You’re about to get your first break, M! This weekend. Luke Hendricks called from Paris early this morning, asked me to track you down. He’s coming back to New York on Thursday evening. He wants to do a fashion shoot with you, starting on Saturday. And this afternoon he asked me to tell you that it’s a special shoot for Jean-Louis Tremont, the French designer.”

  “Oh, my God!” M jumped off the stool, rushed over to Caresse, and the two women hugged and began to jump up and down. Still holding each other, then laughing and screaming, they danced around the kitchen like adolescent girls.

  When they finally stopped, Caresse ran to turn off the kettle, and M went back to the stool, not quite able to process the news. It seemed incredible to her, and she almost didn’t believe it after her last experience. But she wisely said nothing to Caresse, who was obviously over the moon about Luke’s intention to use her for the Tremont shoot.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” M said at last, looking over at Caresse. “It’s just wonderful! So, tell me what else Luke had to say.”

  Swinging around, Caresse said, “His first call was about wanting you to do the shoot, and he announced it would be your first break at long last. When he called again at two, he asked me to book Agnes and Marguerite for hair and makeup. He also explained that he doesn’t want to start shooting before noon on Saturday, and that you might have to continue the shoot next week as well.” Caresse paused, made a face. “Oh, jeez, I bet you won’t be able to work at the cheesecake place.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” M assured her. “Jody, the manager, understands I have to take time off now and then. It’s fine, honestly. Oh, I’m so excited I can’t believe it. Luke must be shooting Tremont’s clothes on me. Is that what he said?”

  “Yes, it is, and listen, before I forget, Luke wants you to bring the things you wore for Frankie’s session. It all sounds very serious, don’t ya think?”

  “I do, and I love Tremont’s clothes, they suit me.” When she realized Caresse was gaping at her, M explained, “I’ve never owned a Tremont, just tried his things on occasionally, and once a friend in London lent me a dress of his for a special party.” Jumping off the stool, M stepped over to the counter to join Caresse, said, “Oh, God, I must call Larry! Tell him my news. He’ll be so thrilled.” She pulled her cell out of her red Kelly and started to dial.

  Caresse exclaimed, “No! Don’t call him! Tell him in person, that’s always the best when you have a big surprise to share. He’ll take you out to celebrate.”

  “Not tonight he won’t,” M answered and put her cell away. “He’s had the flu for days. I’m going to make him chicken-in-the-pot again; he likes it, thank goodness, but it must be coming out of his ears by now.”

  Caresse said, “Jewish penicillin. It works wonders.” Handing M the mug, she picked up her own, raised it, and finished, “Congratulations! Here’s to the shoot.”

  “You’ve been awfully quiet for the last half an hour,” James Cardigan murmured, taking Geo’s hand in his. “What’s bothering you, me darlin’?”

  “Nothing, James, honestly. I’m just unwinding after a long day at the easel,” she answered and leaned back against the banquette.

  “That may be so, but I have a feeling something’s troubling you. I know you quite well by now, Georgiana, and I recognize that look in your eyes. A troubled look that doesn’t go away.” When she did not respond, James lifted his glass and took a sip of his white wine, then glanced around the restaurant. He had brought Geo to Da Umberto on West Seventeenth, a Tuscan restaurant they both enjoyed not only for the food and wine but for the atmosphere. There was a tranquillity about this spot that created a perfect ambience for relaxing, talking, and enjoying the delectable food.

  Not wanting to force the point, James changed the subject when he asked, “How’s M? Any breaks yet?”

  Geo shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Anyway, she’s been very occupied with Larry. He’s had the flu, and she’s been practically living at his apartment. So I haven’t really seen her except for a few minutes. Listen, James, there is one thing troubling me, that’s true, and it’s the safety of my friend Annette Lazenby, who rents the attic floor in the brownstone. I haven’t heard from her lately, and neither has her mother, and—”

  “Where is she?” James interrupted. “You’ve only ever mentioned her in passing. So, where is she?”

  “She’s in Afghanistan on an assignment for her magazine. How dangerous is
it out there? In Kabul?”

  “Only the most dangerous place in the world, bar none,” he responded swiftly. “And no wonder you’re concerned about her, I would be. . . . An American woman alone in Kabul, oh boy, is that bad news.”

  “Actually, it’s her mother who drew my attention to it. She called this morning to ask if I’d heard from Annette. And I haven’t, not for weeks, and I’m not sure what to do. Mind you, she’s not in the habit of e-mailing me endlessly.”

  “After dinner I’ll help you work out an appropriate e-mail to Annette, making it sound like you’re family. That’s the first step.”

  “Why like family?” Geo responded, looking baffled.

  “You’ve no idea what’s happened to her, and apparently neither does her mother. I want the e-mail to sound as if you’re her sister rather than an outsider; that way if someone else has got hold of her computer, if she’s been captured or is being held, it will appear innocent.”

  “But it is innocent.”

  “I know that, but others might not.”

  “I see. So we’ll do that, send an e-mail later.”

  “Annette could be very busy, you know, or traveling. We don’t know anything, and we shouldn’t speculate.”

  “Just one question. If she doesn’t reply, is there any way you can help me, so that I can put her mother’s worries to rest?”

  He was silent for the longest moment, and then he nodded slowly and said in a quiet voice, “I’ll do my best to find something out. . . . I still have a few of the right connections. A few markers to call in . . .”

  “Thank you, I’m so grateful.” Geo squeezed his arm and smiled up at him.

  Looking at her, smiling back, James Cardigan realized he would do just about anything for Georgiana Carlson, and he realized yet again that he had fallen for her, very heavily. He kissed the tip of her nose and smiled again, reached for his glass.