‘Don’t, Alex. Just don’t.’
‘I’d had too much to drink,’ he said sheepishly. ‘It was Sophia Brand. I was impressed. She was with Jez ...’ But as soon as the words came out of his mouth he could tell that honesty was not the best policy. He fell into silence, listening to the hiss of rain on the water, the distant growl of the traffic.
‘Do you think it’s easy for me?’ she said softly. ‘I don’t have a beautiful face or a fantastic figure, I’m not famous or clever. Don’t you think I hear the whispers every time we walk into a room? “What’s he doing with her? Surely he could do better?” And I try not to listen, but I’m not stupid, Alex. I love a man that half the women in the country want to sleep with, because you’re beautiful and because you write songs that touch them. Women are always going to want you. But you don’t have to take up those offers. You’re better than that. We’re better than that. Or I thought we were.’
His mouth was stale from alcohol, dry from remorse.
‘Just go,’ she whispered.
But he couldn’t go. He needed her and the thought of leaving her here was making his heart ache.
‘I love you, Emma. Please, please forgive me.’
She looked at him with such a probing gaze that he was frightened of what she could see, that she could see right inside him, see his faults and weaknesses. See his secrets.
‘I love you too, Alex. But things have got to change.’
Hope sparked in his heart. ‘What? Anything! Just tell me.’
‘No more other women. Groupies, models, whatever. And the drink, the drugs, they’ve got to stop.’
‘You’ve never mentioned that before,’ he said defensively.
‘Alex, I have. How many times have I told you to go easy at the bar or backstage or in your hotel room? How many times have I asked you to come to bed and you’ve stayed up caning it on your own? I know you’re a rock star, but it’s getting out of control and I think you know that. The bottom line is that I won’t share you with other women and I won’t share you with an addiction either.’
‘I’m not addicted to anything!’
She looked at him fiercely. ‘Then prove it to me.’
‘Em, I don’t know if I can,’ he said, looking down at his hands. ‘I feel lost, I feel empty, I ...’
She took his hands and held them tight, painfully tight.
‘Do you love me?’ she asked.
The thought of her walking out of the park, out of his life, made him feel as if every organ was about to be ripped out of his body.
‘Yes, God yes. You mean everything to me, Emma.’
‘Then don’t hurt me again,’ she said.‘Because if you do, you really will be on your own.’
29
Grace jumped out of the limo with a spring in her step, smoothing down the red light woollen suit and smiling for the photographers waiting on the pavement outside the Palumbo Hilton. Inside the foyer, she drew an elegant hand across her forehead. It was a particularly muggy day and she would have liked nothing more than to be by the pool with her children, but with the elections only twelve weeks away, every minute of her day was filled up helping Gabe on the campaign trail, in keeping with the promise she had made to her husband at Christmas. That morning she had shown a journalist from London’s Sunday Times around a Palumbo orphanage and then been interviewed for a six-page feature on Parador for that publication. And now she was on her way to support Gabe at a press lunch. On the way to the hotel, her assistant Manuela had read out the latest election polls from the local paper. Since Grace’s involvement with Gabriel’s campaign and the launch of her orphanages charity, CARP’s popularity had increased by two per cent. It wasn’t a huge amount, and anyway, she doubted the reliability of t
hese polls – this was Parador after all – but it still made her feel good.
Nor could she ignore that her relationship with Gabriel had vastly improved since she had joined the campaign trail. For a start, they were together much more often, which not only gave them more to talk about, but meant that they often shared the same bed at night. Their sex life, which had dwindled away to almost nothing over the past year, had reignited; it was like they were discovering each other all over again. It made her remember how much she missed it. But the truth was, while she wholeheartedly believed in the aims of the CARP party, Grace wouldn’t weep if they lost the election. Win or lose, though, it had to be better than the tense limbo they were now in. She loved Gabriel and wanted him to succeed, but most of all she just wanted it over.
She was ushered through the hotel by her bodyguard and up to a large conference room. The huge suite on the mezzanine floor was full of journalists all looking towards a dais where Gabriel was standing in a navy suit deftly answering questions with wit and authority, although even from the back of the room, she could see the tension on his face. He was under fire and he desperately needed the support of the press. A month earlier, CARP had unveiled a plan to hand over a parcel of land to the paramilitaries terrorising the rural south in return for a ceasefire. It was brave and forward-thinking, but it was also political dynamite.
‘What makes you think the rebels will be satisfied with this deal?’ asked one journalist. ‘If you reward terrorism, surely that will just encourage them to burn more crops, rape more women and butcher more innocents so you will give them more land?’
Gabriel shook his head. ‘This is a one-off deal, a final settlement. I am not just expecting a ceasefire, I am expecting a timetable of decommissioning arms.’
‘And if they don’t do what you ask?’
Gabriel smiled slightly. ‘Then we will talk to them again. Only this time, we won’t take no for an answer.’