Deep and Silent Waters (14 page)

‘Can we go and eat? I’m starving, and when this lot finally get through drinking themselves stupid every table in the dining room will be taken,’ Valerie said, her black eyes burning with resentment.

She had not yet given Sebastian the notes she had typed earlier. She wanted to get him to herself first, so that she could watch him read the pages, decipher his expressions, the look in his eyes. She knew him so well. Better than anyone. Yet Sebastian was like an iceberg, with large areas of his personality and thought processes buried beneath the surface. What was hidden was probably far more dangerous than anything you could see with the naked eye.

Sidney smiled sleepily at her. ‘Aren’t we in a temper? I wonder what tweaked our tail. Or do I? No, not really, it’s pretty obvious what’s eating you up, Val, I’m afraid.’

‘Screw you.’ Valerie turned red and glanced at Sebastian, who was totally unaware of her, his eyes fixed on Laura.

Sidney crowed, ‘Is that an invitation? Here and now? Or shall we go upstairs? What’s your favourite position, darling? I’ve often wondered. Missionary? You don’t look the adventurous type.’

‘Do I have to listen to this crap?’ she demanded of Sebastian, who blinked at her and suddenly woke up to the conversation.

‘Let her alone, Sid. Your idea of humour isn’t the same as hers.’

‘She hasn’t got a sense of humour! She hasn’t got much sense at all. If she had, she’d stop baying at the moon. She’s a sad case, nearly as blind as you are.’

Sebastian looked blank. Absently he said, ‘What are you babbling about?’

His eyes moved back to Laura, who was laughing at something Melanie had just said to her. He watched the pale curve of her throat, the way the sensuous, elegant white silk gown clung to her body. His mouth went dry. Heat burned in his groin.

Valerie’s long nails curled into her palms and she dug them in, deliberately, to stop herself screaming at Sidney. He would love that. It would give her away in front of Sebastian and cause a scene, and Sidney loved to cause scenes. She admired and liked Sidney: he could be thoughtful, affectionate, sensitive – if she was ill or in trouble there was nobody she would rather go to – but he could also be spiteful and mischievous. His nature was strongly tilted to the feminine, which explained his intuitive instincts where film was concerned. Sebastian said he was a great artist, using the camera instead of a paintbrush.

Most people in the business agreed, and Sidney was one of the most respected men in his profession. He had a wall full of awards and could pick and choose what he did. But when he was in one of his wicked moods, Valerie felt like scratching his eyes out.

‘Tomorrow morning they’re screening that French thriller
Ecoute et Regard
at the Palazzo del Cinema,’ Sebastian said, sliding a hand inside his white dinner jacket. He rarely dressed formally but tonight he looked unusually elegant. He pulled out an envelope and proffered it to Sidney. ‘I got four seats. I can’t come, I’ve got an appointment, but you said you wanted to see it.’

Valerie’s head swung towards him. ‘I don’t remember any appointment. Who’s this with?’

He ignored her.

‘Thanks, guy,’ Sidney said, taking the envelope and pulling out the tickets to read them. He looked at the others of the crew around the bar table. ‘Who else wants to come?’

‘Are there sub-titles?’ Fred, the sound man, asked. ‘I don’t speak a word of French.’

‘Sure there are – in Italian!’ said Sidney, grinning.

‘Valerie, I’d like you to go, and give me a report on it later,’ Sebastian told her.

‘Won’t you need me to take notes during this appointment you have?’

‘No, it isn’t business. I’m having breakfast upstairs in the suite.’

‘How mysterious,’ Sidney said. ‘Male or female?’

‘He and I shared a mother,’ Sebastian said, in the soft voice of someone who knows he is dropping a bombshell, and watched them to see how they would react.

Their faces froze incredulously. For a moment they were unable to speak.

Sidney was the first to get over the shock. ‘You have a brother?’ His voice was careful, testing the ground. Every piece of publicity Sebastian had ever had stressed that he had been an only child whose mother had died when he was very young.

They would all have sworn they knew everything about him: they’d worked with him for years, on and off, spent months with him in the enforced and unreal intimacy of the film crew on location, far from home, sharing bad food, dull hotels, uncertain weather. Suddenly they watched him as if he had become a stranger, as they had just after Clea’s death, when they weren’t sure what to believe, when they were waiting for him to reassure them, tell them he had had nothing to do with it. Sebastian knew precisely what was going on inside their heads.

He laughed shortly. ‘No, he isn’t my brother. I meant literally that we shared a mother. My mother. His mother couldn’t breastfeed, but my mother had enough milk for two, so she fed both me and Nico.’

Sidney whistled. ‘You’re kidding! What was wrong with bottle-feeding?’

‘Nico was premature and very small. They thought he would have a better start if he was breastfed, less chance of infection.’

‘How very earthy and primitive. It sounds like Dickens. Remember
Dombey and Son
? There was a wet-nurse in that,’ Sidney said, raising his eyebrows. ‘Did she feed you both together? It conjures up very sexy images – a baby at each breast. She must have had big ones to do it.’

Sebastian got up and walked away.

‘You’re talking about his mother, you creep!’ Valerie spat at Sidney. ‘And she’s dead! Well, you really did it this time. He’s furious with you.’

‘And that’s made your day!’ sneered Sidney.

He and Valerie, the whole crew, were always in competition for Sebastian’s attention and approval, like dogs in a pack permanently fighting to lie next to the leader.

Valerie ignored him and hurried after Sebastian while Sidney sauntered behind, looking bland and amused, an expression that sat naturally upon his face because his bald head and large ears gave him a comic expression without his needing to try. He hoped that Valerie wasn’t right, that he hadn’t deeply offended Sebastian.

‘Shit,’ he thought aloud. ‘Me and my big mouth.’ He should have remembered that a man was always sensitive on the subject of his mother, especially if she had died young. Shit, shit. ‘Sidney McKenna, you’re a fool,’ he told himself scathingly.

For Laura the dinner dragged on and on; she smiled and nodded like a doll, listening to the male American voices, aware of eyes wandering over her like sticky hands, trying not to yawn, trying not to look as bored as she felt. Melanie did most of the talking, as always; she oozed film gossip, laughed a lot, asked questions, listened as if fascinated, and clearly enjoyed the meal – which was just as well as Laura had no appetite. It was too hot and she was on edge; her mind kept drifting away to Sebastian. She had seen him in the bar, with Sidney and Valerie and the others; she was aware of him now, eating on the other side of the beautiful dining room.

‘Are you going to the showing in the square tonight, Laura?’ one of the men asked, and she blinked at him, lost for a second, not having been following what was said.

Melanie saved her. ‘She’s too tired to stay up late and she’ll be going to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a very busy day, and even if she doesn’t win she has to look good.’

The men laughed, staring at Laura. ‘I’m sure she will,’ one said. ‘The company are thrilled that she got this nomination. It’ll be a big boost for the film around the world.’

‘Wonderful,’ Melanie said enthusiastically. ‘I think I’ll go along tonight. It sounds marvellous. I’ve never seen a film in a setting like that – it’s a brilliant idea, showing films in St Mark’s Square, right out in the open under the stars, a damn sight more pleasant than watching them in a cinema. Oh, I know they’re air-conditioned, these days, but when the place is packed with people it still gets hot and stuffy. It would be a pity to miss one of the latest films while I’m actually at the Venice Film Festival.’

‘I’d love to go, too, if only I could stay awake long enough,’ Laura said, stifling another great yawn. She caught the eye of one of the men and smiled an apology. ‘Sorry, I’m dead on my feet. I had to be up terribly early this morning to fly here.’

The waiter brought liqueurs and strong black coffee. Laura felt her gorge rise. She had eaten such a weird mixture already, since Melanie had insisted on letting the men choose the food. They had picked a dish each: a risotto coloured black by the cuttlefish ink used to flavour it, followed by guinea fowl cooked with mushrooms and lots of cream, both accompanied by far too much wine, and then a pudding with a strong almond flavour and masses more cream. Laura rarely ate much and the peculiar mix of ingredients was turning her stomach – it felt like something resembling a washing-machine.

‘Not for me, thanks,’ she said, her face pale. Her eyes implored Melanie. ‘I’m sorry, would you mind awfully if – I think I really must go to bed—’

She got up, stumbled, and the men rose, too, concerned.

‘Are you okay? Would you like someone to come upstairs with you?’

Fat chance! she thought. What an opportunist – but then most men are! Aloud she said, ‘No, no, please, stay and have coffee with Mel. I don’t want to spoil the evening for you.’

Melanie stayed resolutely in her seat. ‘A good night’s sleep is what you need,’ she said, with a smile pinned to her face but a look in her eyes that told Laura she would be in trouble tomorrow for running out.

‘See you in the morning.’

As she left Laura kept her eyes from the corner where Sebastian was sitting, yet was still conscious of being watched from there, aware of a coldness, as if someone had opened a refrigerator door and released a wave of chilly air. Every nerve in her body tingled with dread. Oh, God, she thought, that isn’t just coldness. It’s hatred. Her temples began to throb with distress, as if she heard the brazen sound of a gong being beaten. Somebody wanted her dead. Somebody wanted to kill her. From across the room, that dark intention beat on and on, and she knew it must come from Sebastian. Had Clea felt that death-wish beating on her before she died? Laura had assumed that either she had jumped or was pushed – but now she saw that Clea could have been driven to her death by that relentless hostility.

She hardly knew how she got out of the crowded room, across the even more crowded lobby, to the lifts. Her body moved automatically, her mind submerged and drowning beneath waves of shock.

It wasn’t until she was back upstairs that the faintness and sickness began to subside. She went into her room, closed the door and staggered to the bed, which had been turned down by a maid who had left a bedside lamp switched on, making a gentle glow. Laura sat there for several minutes, trembling and breathing thickly, before she had the strength to move again. She undressed and washed, put on a cream silk nightdress, which the maid had left out on the bed, and was about to slide under the covers when there was a tap on the door.

Melanie! she thought, tempted not to respond, but the tap came again, louder.

Laura went to the door. As she opened it a crack and looked out, she saw Sebastian. Her heart constricted in her chest, and she tried at once to shut the door, but he had his foot inside and forced it back, pushing her with it. Laura leant her whole strength on the door, but so did he, and he was bigger, stronger. The struggle was silent, despairing. She knew she must lose but wouldn’t give up until, with one last thrust, Sebastian sent her flying.

She sprawled on the carpet, aware of him closing the door and kneeling beside her.

‘Have you hurt yourself?’ His eyes were anxious, his face pale, but she remembered what she had sensed coming from him in the dining room, the desire to hurt, the hatred.

‘Leave me alone!’ she said hoarsely. ‘Go away or I’ll ring downstairs and get hotel security to come and chuck you out.’

‘I just want to talk to you for a minute.’

‘I don’t want to talk to you, especially alone in here. I don’t feel safe around you. I don’t want to end up the way your wife did.’

His expression changed. The concern vanished and a blackness invaded his eyes, a burning resentment and hostility. That was what she had felt in the dining room, but it wasn’t quite the same now: the feelings she had picked up earlier had been bitter, a hatred like black ice. This rage was hot, gushing up from deep inside the body. Not a desire to kill. A very different desire, which made her throat close up in fierce shock.

‘Don’t touch me!’ she cried, scrambling to get up and away from him, but she didn’t move fast enough.

He took hold of her shoulders, forced her back down on to the carpet and held her there while he climbed on top of her, his knees on either side of her waist, holding her silk-covered body rigidly between them.

‘You think I’m going to kill you, do you?’ he muttered. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m beginning to think I should do just that. At least it would get you out of my head. I spend too much time thinking about you.’

‘Well, don’t! I don’t want you thinking about me.’

His temper flared again. ‘I don’t give a damn what you want! What about what I want?’ His eyes travelled over her slowly. ‘You know what that is, don’t you?’

She looked up at him, her mouth dry, her body pulsating suddenly with wild sexual awareness. Sebastian stared down at her, his black pupils glowing and dilating. His lips parted to suck in air audibly. The hands pinning her shoulders relaxed slightly and slid caressingly down over her bare skin, peeled back the silk that was half covering her breasts and his warm palms cupped the soft, smooth flesh he had exposed.

He bent his head slowly and she watched him as if hypnotised, unable to move, her throat beating with passion and fear, so much on edge that she thought she might scream. At the same time she ached, with a deep physical need, to feel his mouth on the bare breast he held. When his lips parted around her nipple her body jerked into an arch, and a harsh, low cry of pleasure came from her.

Sebastian lifted his head slightly to look down at her again. ‘Like that, do you? Funny. So do I.’ He moved his head to her other breast and took the nipple of that into his mouth, sucked softly, his fingers playing with the warm flesh, fondling and stroking the way a baby does as it takes milk from its mother. Laura felt her breasts swell, felt, too, the flesh between her thighs burning, moist and open with arousal.