Tall Poppies (32 page)

Elizabeth inclined her head. Touch. How’s Zurich?’ ‘Busy. We have a lot of ground to cover, it’s like setting up a new business.’ , ‘Just like me, then. Why don’t you have a look at my

stuff, tell me what you think?’ Elizabeth asked.

Nina reached over and took the pile of faxes she was proffered, pretended to look through them. The ad slogans seemed snappy enough, there was lots of butt kissing from France and Germany. She’d check this rubbish on her way back tonight, just in case, by some fucking fluke, there was anything interesting in it.

‘It’s doing very well back home, the sales are still holding.’

‘Yes.’ Elizabeth nodded proudly. ‘Did you realise that’s almost three weeks since our last TV slot ran, and they’re still selling?’

‘I’ll admit, you seem to have a flair for advertising. ‘I do indeed. A talent you could have used.’

‘I needed you to work on other things. Market research matters, Lady Elizabeth.’

‘Yes, I realise that now,’ Elizabeth said coolly. ‘As you can see from my work, I’ve managed to use what you made me learn. Now I know more than most account executives about what our market wants. And when we tailor the work to that - bingo.’

to

Nina pressed her manicured fingers deep into the table mat. Oy, I can’t take much more of this, with madam sitting there condescending about geography and telling me about the market!

‘Well, that’s about it. How’s the skiing coming along?’ ‘Why do you care?’

Nina flushed. ‘It could be good for the product.’

‘I suppose that’s true. Pretty well, so far, but we’ll have to see,’ Elizabeth said vaguely.

‘Are you training with your boyfriend?’

Elizabeth seemed to freeze for a second. ‘I don’t have a boyfriend.’

What? ‘Isn’t Jack Taylor your boyfriend?’

‘No, Jack’s just a friend,’ Elizabeth told her. ‘We do ski together. Sometimes. But if I get any free time I spend it on work, not socialising.’

She flhed Nina a brilliant smile from perfect white teeth and stood up, extending one hand. ‘I must dash, meeting the coach on the Weissflujoch and the queues are horrible! Will I see you at the Games? Or maybe in London. Give Dino my best. And say hello to Father for

me.’

Nina picked up Elizabeth’s notes with a sinking heart. lust a friend. Was that a cover, or did she really mean it? Had they busted up? There were a lot of papers here, it looked like she was taking it seriously. Maybe in that bimbo’s head she was involved in Dragon for real.

Tony wasn’t going to like it. And neither did she.

Elizabeth watched Nina leave from her bedroom window, the dark hair immaculately styled against the designer clothes. Roth looked as professional as always. She could scarcely believe they were the same age. Were all career women like that, or just the Americans? Nina Roth had that low-class tough-guy attitude, a real don’tluckwith-me type. Dad had surrounded himself with

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those men; Elizabeth recalled hundreds of them over the years, guests at the castle, tennis-tournament partners, padding the crowd at Monica’s receptions. Faceless stormtroopers with that jungle vibe underneath the sombre suits, she’d called them ‘the piranhas’ when she was a kid. The big difference being that all those lackeys were male.

While she snapped on her boots and reached for her racing helmet Elizabeth thought about Nina for a while. She was sleeping with Tony, but there was something else there. I have to face up to it, Elizabeth thought, she hates me, and she’s good. She’s really good. It made her edgy when Nina asked about Jack. There was something behind that - Nina Roth wasn’t interested in her love life … or lack of it - but she’d have to worry about it later.

Elizabeth arrived at Drostobel feeling tense. The sky was slate blue, thick, pregnant clouds lumbering over the sun, dappling the slopes with shade, and creating small pools of vertical beams where the light broke through, like medieval paintings of divine grace. The air was thick and close as well as chilly. Hans had been pleased with her progress so far, she could tell because she spoke fluent Hans, although to anyone else his endless lectures on angles and crouches and now we try once more, Frdulein, would seem unbearable. Hans only cheered you once the medal was won. Or lost.

Her fitness hell in Kent had worked. Cross-training had given her extra strength and.flexibility. Her records showed that she’d shaved almost a second off her World Cup time for the Davos meet. Trouble was you couldn’t count on that - the rumours were that the Swiss team had also come up with new routines.

Heidi and Louise were skiing the course in Verbier. The Austrians were in Grindelwald and the French in Flims, the main contenders spreading themselves out

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amongst the courses by mutual consent. Hans and she would rotate as well. Heidi and Louise had real good fortune; every meet was home base for them. And there was more that upset her. The Strela crash she’d nearly skied into, Grace Cortez lying there, her foot twisted, back arched in agony, every skier’s nightmare. Poor Grace, she’d nearly made the top ten last year. Now the dream had skidded away along with her skis, for these Games and maybe for ever. Elizabeth’s mouth dried up thinking about that. They were all just one fall away from oblivion.

Focus, focus, Elizabeth warned herself. Hans was taking her down the Drostobel, less scary than the Wang but about as steep. Difference was, he’d had it fenced off and poled up. She sighed. Slalom and Super-G, her weak points, but they needed work.

At the. top of the lift she slid on to the snow and tightened her helmet strap, looking round carefully. Where is he? I should be able to pick Hans out of the crowd by now …

Somebody rapped on the Union Jack emblazoned over her visor. Elizabeth looked up crossly. ‘Hey, cut it out!

Oh, Jack, hi, I was looking for Hans.’

‘He couldn’t be here.’

‘But we’ve got a session. He never misses training.’ ‘I’m sure he’s got his reasons,’ Jack said lightly. ‘Wouldn’t share them With me, which is something I purely hate.’

Suddenly she was glad she-was wearing the helmet. Didn’t want Jack to see the silly, puppy-like longing probably written all over her face. It was the warm Texas sun in his voice on this gloomy day. Or maybe the matt black suit, no goggles, that made him look like a thug from a spy movie. It was awesome on that body, moulded to his chest and quads, with just a discreet Stars and Stripes over the heart, US training colours.

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‘Thanks for the message. See ya,’ she said, but Taylor clamped a massive paw on her gloves before she could push off.

‘He asked me to help out.’

‘Hans asked you to train me?’ Elizabeth repeated.

‘I guess,’ Jack said, shrugging, his dark eyes fixed on her. ‘I’m polishing SuperoG this afternoon. I don’t mind showing you what you’re doing wrong.’

Hans, you bastard! Elizabeth thought. This would be good for her and Hans knew it - he didn’t give a damn about anything except her skiing. It was murder to have to take it from Jack Taylor. ‘Show you what you’re doing wrong!’ And she would have to take it, because Jack’s Super-G was outstanding. Possibly his best discipline and with Taylor, that meant a hell of a lot. She had no choice here at all.

‘Thank you. That’d be great,’ Elizabeth muttered. She’d been avoiding him since the day she arrived. It occurred to her that this would be the first time she’d seen him ski since the World Cup.

“OK,’ Jack said evenly. He cursed Hans Wolf silently under his breath. He owed Wolf too many favours to turn him down, but the old guy just didn’t know what he was asking. Elizabeth, he must have been out of his brain, thinking he could make a future with the spoilt, stuck-up little brat. First she got on his case about leaving England to train, like the Olympics didn’t matter, like her dumb-ass job at the drug company really meant something. Her pa was never giving her a shake, and she should have seen that.

She should have been here, like I was, he thought. Then when she does turn up she’s foolin’ about in the hotel, she ruins my schedule, snaps at me …

Jack took his skiing seriously. It took the last World Cup for Elizabeth to get his respect. Now the rumours from the British camp were she was back to her old ways,

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her prima donna mode. This time her distractions were ‘business’, quote unquote, and not boys, but it was all the same thing. Toys. Games.

All that time I pined for her, Jack thought, but I wasn’t with her. Wasn’t seeing how she acted. She turned up to team camp looking like cotton-candy, she was so weak. It killed him to see her, weeks before the Games, being late, temperamental … it wouldn’t matter but Savage was a world-class talent, she had the potential to be one of the true greats. Jack just knew it, he smelt it in her like a fox scents a vixen. For her to throw it away like this was disgraceful. If a kid of his acted that way he’d tan her hide. She made him mad.

But then there was the other little problem, the one he’d brought on himself. It was real, real easy to get pissed at Elizabeth. Not so easy to ignore her. Or forget her. Why-should I care if some limey chick doesn’t take my calls? Jack thought angrily. It bothered him that she was blanking him again. He couldn’t forget that kiss on that freezing winter morning in England, the waiting for her sharpening the pleasure, feeling her resistance melt, and then the cottage, and everything he’d imagined - but better. Elizabeth’s long honey hair drifting over his chest, her flat stomach fluttering under his hands, her endless legs and sinewy body writhing over him, those little bud nipples taut on her pale breasts …

Elizabeth was looking at him from under that biker’s helmet. Impatiently. That tilt of her head bugged the shit out of him.

Come on, Jack, that was it, she’s a great piece of ass, but there are lots of those. Now you gotta train with her so let’s get on with it.

Well. He would train her. He’d show her exactly what standard was required to be an Olympic champion, what she’d forfeited with all her stupid games and scrappy practice. What sweat bought you.

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I’ll show you, sugar, Jack thought.

‘I’ll watch from the top the first time. We’ll do the three slalom courses, then the Super-G, then you follow my instructions. Just holler if you want to drop out.’

‘I won’t want to drop out,’ Elizabeth said, glaring at him.

Jack smiled coldly. ‘We’ll see. On my mark, left gate …’

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The doorbell buzzed. Nina jumped, startled. She was still tugging her brush through the ends of her hair, she’d only gotten to the tinted moisturiser stage of her make-up. Her watch said eight a.m. It couldn’t be him, it had to be a mistake. She ignored it and rubbed pale concealer under her eyes; God, she was so tired. Up at five to wash her hair, but she’d gotten in at midnight and been forced to stay up till two, trying to think of some way round the Lady Elizabeth problem. Her body had broken through some kind of barrier. Being tired like this gave you a jittery false energy, like the kind you get on too much caffeine.

The buzzer again. Shit. Nina slipped her feet into the Stphane Kelian stacked mules and stumbled to her entryphone.

‘Tony! Sorry, you’re so early - come right up.’

She rushed back to the bathroom, frantically scooping up last night’s underwear from the tiles and shoving it

into the laundry basket. No time for make-up now, she might smear it. Tony, oh God. Her heart started

hammering, she felt a nervous sweat break out across her back. Flung open the window tothe freezing morning air to lose the steam from her shower. The mirror cleared and she caught a glimpse of herself as the doorbell trilled: dark hair damp and sleek, her body-hugging Chanel number in navy and white over a crisp Prada shirt. The most expensive suit she owned. There could be none of the casual pants and jumpers she wore out with Harry;.

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for Tony, nothing but the best was acceptable. You had to be it and look it, for the greater glory of the Robber Baron. Her face was bare, but there was no time to put that right.

‘Coming, Tony, just one second!’

She spritzed herself with Joy, his favourite, and sprinted to open the door.

Harry Namath stood there, holding a video and a packet of Butterkist.

‘Oh.’ Nina gasped with surprise, then recovered herself. ‘Er … Harry! Come in, sorry, I was expecting someone else.’

‘So I gathered.’ Harry stepped into the apartment, looking her over. He was wearing jeans, runners and a sweatshirt, with a battered khaki rucksack slung over one shoulder. ‘Tony? I thought it was always “the earl” or “Lord Caerhaven”, some feudal bullshit like that.’

Nina wanted to die. ‘Well, I usually refer to him that

way to outsiders - I mean, other people. He’s the boss, I have to be respectful.’

. ‘But privately you’re friends?’

‘I wouldn’t say friends,’ Nina said evasively. ‘Not strictly friends…’

‘That’s good.’ Namath’s handsome, open face curled a

little with dislike. ‘He’s sharp, but I hear bad things about that guy.’

‘Successful people always have enemies.’

‘OK, OK, if you like him …’ Harry handed over the cassette and the popcorn. ‘Brought you the game and some supplies. In case all this culture gets too much for you. It’s a goodbye present.’

‘It’s a what?’ Nina said. She clutched the video to her chest. She couldn’t believe the dismay she felt. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To England, honey, remember? To London.’

‘But I thought—’

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‘So did I, but Lilly’s found a place she wants to be. Says she’s seeing some interesting results on the latest batch of mice.’

‘But why does she need you with her?’ Nina pushed her hair back from her eyes. ‘You run the computers …’

‘She’s real insistent. I don’t like to let her down,’ Harry said. He moved a little closer. ‘You look upset, don’t tell me you’re gonna miss it. All those fights and screaming matches …’