Taking Chances (28 page)

She soon realized that there were any number of different ways she could play this, but after giving them all a quick run-through, trying out her words, second-guessing reactions, trying to foresee the outcomes, she still wasn’t convinced she’d hit on the right one yet. Then quite suddenly the perfect answer presented itself with such ease and certitude that not even a trace of doubt shadowed its formation. It was so obvious and so simple she was surprised it had taken her this long to get there, which only went to show that she probably wasn’t over her small bout of flu after all.

Looking at her watch she wondered if she’d catch Tom at the hotel before he went to have drinks with the director, Vic Warren. Not that she had any intention of breaking the news on the phone, but maybe he’d be free later, for dinner. The very idea of spending another evening with Tom was exciting enough, without the added bonus of what might come after.

Chambers’s expression was unreadable, which, for some bizarre reason, seemed to be making him even more attractive. And the anger she sensed in him, which she knew was directed at her, was increasing his appeal no end.

They were in the garden of the Four Seasons hotel,
two
cocktails on the table in front of them, and the occasional stroller passing by. The evening sun was dazzling, which gave her a good excuse to mask her failing nerve with sunglasses. This was an extremely delicate manoeuvre, trying to get him to break the news of Ellen’s pregnancy to Michael, she just hoped to God it wasn’t going to backfire.

When at last he spoke, his words did nothing to reassure her. ‘I want you to forget everything you overheard,’ he said, ‘and I don’t want you ever to mention it again, not even to me.’

‘But what if it’s your child?’ Sandy protested. ‘Surely you’d want to know that.’

His eyes became discomfitingly intense, and for a weirdly horrible moment she got the impression he was seeing a lot more than just her face.

‘Do you want Michael to bring up your child thinking it’s his?’ she persisted. ‘Would you really do that to him? Or to the child? Surely it has the right to know its own father.’

‘Listen to me,’ he said, speaking in a way that made her cheeks heat up, ‘if Ellen says that baby is Michael’s then it’s Michael’s.’ His eyes were boring into hers. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying? Are you getting the message?’

‘Yes, but are you?’

A bitter smile crossed his lips. ‘Oh, I’m getting it all right,’ he answered. ‘I’m getting it loud and clear.’

Brushing past that, she said, ‘If you won’t speak to Michael then I think you should at least speak to Ellen. It might help her to know you’re prepared to stand by her … I mean, if she needs it. After all, this is a terrible thing she’s going through, and she obviously cares about you or she’d never have slept with you.’

He looked away for a moment, and sensing she might be making some headway with this line of approach she pressed on.

‘I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and if you ask me she’s more serious about you than she’s letting on. You’re an attractive man, Tom, I can completely understand why Ellen did what she did. But unlike Ellen I’m not about to marry Michael, and nor would I if I were carrying another man’s child.’

His face turned hard again. ‘We don’t know that for certain.’

‘But surely the doubt alone should be enough to postpone the wedding – at least until the whole thing can be settled. And think about it, it’s a pretty rotten thing to do to a man, marry him when you don’t know if the child you’re carrying is his or not. Come to that, it’s not a particularly pleasant thing to do to you. Not that I’m blaming her, she’s obviously in such a state she doesn’t know what to do, which is why, if you talked to her, it might at least help her come to a decision.’

There was a long and difficult silence, until finally Sandy put a hand on his and said, ‘I know this can’t be easy for you, and believe me …’ She stopped as he suddenly got to his feet.

‘Have the waiter put the drinks on my tab,’ he said, and throwing a five-dollar bill on the table to cover the tip he walked back inside the hotel. To call Ellen? Sandy wondered, or Michael?

Chapter 13

THE ORGANIST WAS
playing Handel’s organ concerto No. 4 as the wedding guests filed into the Church of the Good Shepherd on Santa Monica Boulevard in Beverly Hills. Already sixty or more were gathered, many dipping their fingers in holy water and crossing themselves as they bowed towards the altar before moving into the pews. Outside the entertainment press was gathering, reporters and camera crews eager to grab as many celebrities as they could before they disappeared inside the church. Fashion correspondents and gossip columnists were out in force too, for there were as many designer creations floating up the wide brick steps as there were potentials for rumour and speculation.

It was a beautiful hot June day; the sky was crystal clear and the luscious green of the palms stood out vividly against the blue of the heavens. Cars were filling up the surrounding streets and as the clock ticked towards twelve the bride and groom’s closest friends and relatives began to arrive.

Ellen’s and Michael’s mothers came together, chauffeured in a long black limousine and escorted by Vic Warren and Craig Everett. The rest of the McCann Paull agents were in the limo behind: Sandy, Zelda, Harry, Janey, Diana and a couple of assistants. Soon after Michael’s sister, Colleen, and her husband Dan arrived, with their two sons, Charlie and Ben. Their
five-year-old
daughter, Tierney, was back at the house with Ellen, realizing all her wildest dreams as she showed off her cream taffeta bridesmaid’s dress and headband of small white flowers. There was a quick flurry of activity from the press as they learned who the chic raven-haired woman and her family were, then suddenly all attention was focused on another black limousine that was pulling up at the kerb.

As he stepped out Michael was laughing, and made a comic show of trying to protect himself from the sudden thrust of cameras and microphones. Cavan, who was so like his older brother there could be no mistaking who he was, watched in fascination and tried not to laugh at the way their mother was scowling from the door of the church. It was reminiscent of the days they’d hung back from bedtime, or started messing about with the other kids when they’d been told to come inside.

Though they and the ushers were all dressed in long black tailcoats and charcoal grey trousers, Michael’s was the only blue cravat and grey Paisley waistcoat. The others wore lemon cravats and burgundy waistcoats. As Tom was amongst the ushers he was suitably attired, and was busy showing Ellen’s friends and family to their seats as Michael and Cavan made their way in behind them.

The irony of being chosen to take care of Ellen’s side wasn’t lost on Tom, but he showed only humour and consideration as he went about his duties. From where she was sitting in the sixth row of Michael’s side he could feel Sandy’s eyes watching him, but he studiously avoided them until the moment Michael stopped halfway up the aisle to exchange some good-natured banter before moving on to the front. That was when Tom finally looked at Sandy, then turned away.

He knew she didn’t understand why he was letting this happen; he knew too that she’d wanted him to
confront
either Ellen or Michael, so that no blame or bad feeling would attach itself to her as it often did to a messenger. But she stood about as much chance of manipulating him like that as she did of Michael actually dumping Ellen for her. No-one had ever told him about her crush on Michael, but as it was as obvious as her methods of flirtation, which, in their way, he found kind of amusing, no-one had had to.

‘Hey Tom,’ he heard someone behind him call, and he turned to find a couple of old photographer friends he hadn’t been aware Michael knew, sliding into one of the back rows. He waved out, then glancing at his watch he saw that it was already a couple of minutes past the time Ellen was due to arrive. But that was OK, it was traditional for the bride to be late, and besides, not all the guests were seated yet.

At the front of the church Michael glanced at his watch too. Next to him Cavan, looking like a rock star with his long hair and three-day beard, started to grin.

‘I reckon she’s going to stand you up,’ he teased, and immediately flinched as his mother clipped him round the ear.

‘Don’t be making jokes in church,’ she whispered loudly.

Michael was laughing. ‘Great hat, Ma,’ he told her.

‘She said no jokes,’ Cavan reminded him, and promptly received another swift clout.

‘Uncle Michael, can I have a ride on your shoulders?’ his nephew Ben wanted to know.

‘Since when did you ride shoulders in church?’ his mother demanded.

Ben looked up at her in confusion, his little three-year-old face a virtual replica of her own. ‘Is Tierney wearing that silly dress today?’ he asked.

‘You know she is,’ Colleen answered. ‘And it’s not silly, it’s lovely.’

‘It’s silly isn’t it Dad?’ he said, turning to his father. ‘You said it was silly.’

‘I said it was pretty,’ he corrected hastily as his wife turned her flashing blue eyes upon him.

‘Is this our family?’ Cavan whispered to Michael.

‘We could be at the wrong wedding,’ Michael responded.

‘You could be right,’ Cavan said. ‘It would account for Ellen not being here.’

Though Michael kept smiling his insides were tensing up. She was almost ten minutes late by now. He cast his mind back to the night before, when he’d left her at the house to go and stay at Vic Warren’s. She’d seemed fine then. Distracted, it was true, but with all that was going on around her, and so much to think about, it was hardly surprising. And when he’d called later to tell her he loved her, she’d cried and told him how much she loved him too. She’d even said she couldn’t wait for tomorrow to be over – presumably because she was looking forward to them being alone together at last. But maybe that wasn’t what she’d meant.

Resisting the urge to look at his watch again, he felt himself turn cold as the organist restarted the pre-wedding repertoire and behind him the guests continued to murmur. He didn’t even want to think about what they were saying, for they too must be starting to wonder what was happening. Maybe Robbie had kicked up a fuss, refusing to be a page, or to get into the car. But Michelle was with him, and if need be she’d surely tell Ellen to go on ahead while she stayed back to deal with Robbie. Then suddenly his blood turned to ice. Michelle! What if he’d misjudged her? What if she hadn’t accepted that it was never going to work for them, and had decided to tell Ellen what had happened between them? Jesus Christ almighty, that was it! For some unknown reason Michelle had got it into her head to choose today, of all days, to ruin his life.

He glanced at Cavan, but there was no way he could voice his fears to his brother, not when Cavan was so crazy about Michelle – it would tear the boy to pieces to find out she still wanted Michael. And he had to stop thinking of Cavan as a boy. He was twenty-three now – fifteen years younger than Michelle, and ten years younger than Michael, but that still didn’t make him a boy. He thought of the time, six years ago, when he and Cavan had spent five long weeks sailing the high seas while he, Michael, had tried to come to terms with the way Michelle had left him. She’d been pregnant with Robbie, but her work, her vocation as she’d called it, had still come first. Never, not even in his worst nightmares, had he dreamt that he would go through that kind of hell again. It had taken him so long to get over it that not until he met Ellen had he even started believing he could.

Sandy glanced at Tom who was now sitting beside her. He was looking straight ahead, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. He showed no signs of tension, but he had to be wondering where Ellen was – unless he already knew. Somehow she didn’t think so, for he surely wouldn’t be letting Michael go through this agonizing wait if he’d known that Ellen wasn’t going to show. Or maybe he would. He was so damned inscrutable there was just no knowing what he might do.

She glanced at him again. He really was something else. So dark and mysterious, and kind of intimidating, at least while he was being like this. It was impossible not to wonder what he’d be like in bed, fantastic, she imagined, maybe even as good as Michael.

Suppressing a sigh, she turned her eyes to the front of the church. She could only see the back of his head, but it was enough to fill her up with sadness – and a bitter envy of Ellen. It seemed whichever way Ellen turned she was going to get one of them, Michael or Tom, so she just
couldn’t
lose. And to Sandy’s mind no-one, but no-one, deserved to be in that position, least of all a woman who had betrayed Michael.

In the end, as the time continued to tick by and everyone in the church became increasingly restless, Sandy couldn’t hold back any longer. She had to know if Tom had spoken to Ellen; she needed to know if Michael was about to be humiliated in the worst possible way, by a woman who didn’t even love him enough to remain faithful.

She’d already drawn breath to ask when there was a sudden commotion at the back, and the news that Ellen had finally arrived swept through the church in an audible murmur of relief. She was almost fifteen minutes late and Sandy’s disappointment was crushing.

Tom turned to her then and spoke so softly she only just caught what he was saying. ‘If you utter as much as one word during this ceremony,’ he said with a smile, ‘I’ll kill you.’

Sandy’s eyebrows shot up, even as the colour suffused her cheeks. Not for a minute did she think he meant it, at least not literally, but the fact that he’d come to Ellen’s defence like that sent her resentment and hatred of Ellen soaring to totally new levels.

At the back of the church, holding tightly to her father’s arm, her face hidden by a veil, Ellen waited for Matty and Michelle to finish fussing at her train. Having got word of her arrival the guests were starting to turn, all of them smiling, some waving. Then one of the ushers signalled the solo trumpet and organist, and, as the triumphant strains of Charpentier’s Te Deum filled the church, she began the long walk up the aisle to Michael.