Walking in Darkness

‘Get to the starting-price, damn you, Freddy!’

He audibly swallowed. ‘Yes. Sorry. I saw Salmond as we walked into the restaurant. He was at a corner table; he was having dinner with . . . you’ll never guess, I couldn’t believe my eyes –’

‘I don’t have time for guessing games, Freddy. Just tell me, will you?’ Paul was on tenterhooks waiting for the crunch – why wouldn’t Freddy spit out whatever bad news he had to tell?

‘Chantal Rousseau,’ Freddy gabbled out, and Paul jerked as if someone had kicked him in the guts.

‘What?’

‘I couldn’t believe it, either, when I saw them – I didn’t even know she knew the guy, after all he lives in the States, I had no idea . . .’

‘Salmond’s trying to persuade her to sell her shares to him, of course,’ Paul thought aloud.

‘That was the first thought I had. But I sat there for two hours and watched them,’ Freddy told him grimly. ‘And they never even noticed me, never once looked round, they were too engrossed in each other. There was no two ways about it, they kept touching hands, looking into each other’s eyes, I could even see under the table, their knees touching . . . he was moving his leg against hers. Paul, they’re having an affair.’

‘Shit,’ Paul said thickly. ‘That bitch, that two-faced bitch. Sweet as honey to me on the phone the other day, when all the time . . . She’s going to sell me out.’

Freddy sighed. ‘I remembered after a while that she had been going over to the States regularly over the last six months; her firm are associated with some American firm now, aren’t they? That’s how she and Salmond must have met. But of course that doesn’t mean she’ll sell him our shares. Well, we can’t be sure she’d do that. I mean, she wouldn’t confuse her private life with her business – she’s quite a cold-headed bitch, isn’t she? That was the impression I always had of her.’

‘I wouldn?

?t be surprised to find out that it was her who suggested he targeted us,’ Paul said flatly. ‘Chantal has always been one of those people who enjoys revenge served cold. She’s never forgiven me.’

‘She must have been crazy about you to feel that bad,’ Freddy said, sounding pitying, and Paul laughed angrily.

‘It was her ego not her heart that got hurt, Freddy! Don’t be so sentimental. Everyone knew we’d been dating; she felt I’d humiliated her. If she had had any warning she’d have publicly dumped me first, but I was over in the States when I met Cathy, and half the gossip columnists had the story before I got round to ringing Chantal. She never forgives an injury. Oh, she’s put on a good act this past year, pretending to be very friendly whenever we met, but she must have been waiting her chance to hit back at me, and when she met Salmond she had the idea of plotting with him to take my firm away from me.’

Freddy groaned. ‘What are we going to do, Paul?’

‘There’s nothing we can do. Her people hold a quarter of our shares – that, combined with what Salmond has already acquired, will give him control.’

‘We can’t just sit here and wait for the blow to fall!’ Freddy broke out.

‘What do you suggest we do, Freddy? Oh, use your head. Salmond knew he would win before he went public with the bid. They’ve just been having fun with me. It’s a foregone conclusion. We’ll go ahead with the shareholders’ voting, it will give us time to work out our next move, but we’ve already lost, take it from me.’

‘I can’t believe you’re taking this so calmly!’

Paul laughed shortly. ‘I’m not calm, Freddy. I’m shellshocked, believe me, but facts are facts and there’s no point in hiding our head in the sand.’

‘But there must be something you can do! You always have in the past. Couldn’t you talk to her? Persuade her not to sell?’

‘Persuade a shark to give up the body it has between its teeth, you mean? What do you think? She has the taste of my blood now. She won’t let me go until she has the rest.’

‘But we’ll still have our own shares, Paul. If we sell those to Salmond we’ll release all that money, we can start again.’ Freddy tried to sound optimistic, daring, but that had never been his nature. It had always been Paul who was the high flyer, the reckless one.

‘I’ll come back to London at once, Freddy. We’ll talk then,’ Paul said.

Cathy was almost asleep when she heard the soft footsteps outside her door. They paused. She heard muffled breathing and lay with closed eyes, suddenly knowing it was Paul. Her heart began to beat fast and hard; shaking her body. Was he going to come in? But after a moment he walked on, past her room, and opened his dressing-room door.

Was he changing his clothes? She lay still, listening, and heard him getting down a suitcase from the top of one of the long wardrobes which ran the length of the narrow room. As if she were in the room with him, she could see what he was doing, heard him snap open the case, heard the rattle of hangers as he took down clothes, shirts, jackets, suits.

Why is he packing? What is he packing? He had clothes in London, in the penthouse flat he used when he could not get home. He had everything he might need there.

Why was he packing all that stuff? More rattling of hangers; other clothes going in, and now he was opening drawers, getting out socks, underwear, pyjamas. How many cases was he taking, for God’s sake?

Cathy sat up, trembling, stumbled off the bed, tying a dressing-gown around her; she had taken off her clothes so that she could sleep. Under the dressing-gown all she wore was a silky slip, bra and panties.

Paul was so intent on packing that he didn’t hear her open the door into his dressing-room. He was closing the lid, locking the case, his head bent; the wintry sunlight striking his hair made it look quite white. With a shock Cathy thought, He looks . . . old. Overnight he had begun to look his age. His face was so gaunt, so haggard, and the silvery hair had no life in it at all.