The Pleasures of Winter (12 page)

‘Why don’t you come home for a while?’ her father said.

‘No, Daddy, I’m fine. I have to work tomorrow. This will all blow over in a few days.’

They stopped outside Abbie’s apartment and William got her rucksack from the trunk. ‘Do you want to come in?’ she asked.

William shook his head. ‘I have a faculty meeting this afternoon, but I’ll call you later.’ He dropped a swift kiss on her cheek and then he was gone.

Abbie nodded to the concierge in the lobby. He handed her a sheaf of papers. ‘Good to see you back, Ms Marshall. There are quite a number of messages for you.’

‘Great,’ Abbie said as she saw that the first one was from a researcher from the Letterman show. This was going to get nasty.

After making a pot of coffee, she opened a new document and stared at the blank screen. She had promised Josh a feature on her adventure in the jungle and the paper would be waiting for her to file her copy.

My Jungle Hell with Jack Winter
she typed slowly. There, that wasn’t so bad.

Six words down, only another one thousand nine hundred and ninety-four to go. Piece of cake. She got up from the desk and walked to the window to stare at the tree-lined street below. Maybe a run would settle her racing thoughts?

‘No, Abbie, no running.’ Echoing her thoughts, her cell phone rang. It was Josh.

‘Abbie, do I look like an idiot? Every other paper is carrying a story about you and Jack Winter. We need that piece within the hour.’

‘I’m on it.’ She tried to sound cheerful.

She disconnected the call and sat down again. Damn Jack Winter. The sudden flare of anger motivated her. Abbie attacked the keyboard and began to write. It was cathartic – the jungle, the dangerous animals, sleeping outdoors, rescue. The words flowed from her. She detailed Zeke Bryan’s injury, the near miss with the jaguar and all the other discomforts they had experienced. She skipped over the nights she had lain in Jack’s arms and completely ignored the cave. Abbie did a last quick edit and pressed send.

Then she settled down to clear all the e-mails in her inbox. Junk, more requests for interviews; almost all of them were interested in her relationship with Jack Winter.
It’s like living in a goldfish bowl
, she thought.

William had left a message when she got out of the shower. He had made reservations for dinner at Chez Martin and would meet her there. She wished he had
picked somewhere less stuffy. Even the waitstaff looked like models and a tossed salad cost fifty dollars. Reluctantly, she pulled on a little black dress and heels.

The maître d’ brought her to the table, right in the centre of the room. The Dillard name always guaranteed the best seat in the house. William was already waiting and rose when she approached. ‘You look as beautiful as usual, my darling.’

Abbie knew she wasn’t beautiful. When she went to the bother of dressing up and put on full make-up, she was presentable. It was the only time William ever complimented her. With a pang, she remembered how unkempt she had been after her swim in the jungle pool, and the sincerity in Jack’s eyes when he presented her with the orchid and said it was almost as beautiful as she was.

That was over. Jack was part of her past. William was her present and her future. If only the thought wasn’t so depressing. She sat down and the maître d’ fussed over them, shaking her elaborately folded napkin and placing it across her lap, as if she were incapable of doing it for herself.

Their waiter arrived and presented them with leather-bound menus. As usual, her copy contained no prices. It didn’t matter anyway. William insisted on ordering for both of them. She was too tired to argue.

‘The porcini and truffle soufflé sounds divine.’

She smiled stiffly at him. ‘You know I can’t eat mushrooms.’

‘Of course I do.’

But she knew that he hadn’t been thinking of her at all. Food ordered, William then perused the wine list and, following an extended conversation with the sommelier, he
turned his attention to her. Abbie cringed when she caught the amused glances from some of the other tables. A few people were whispering and she was sure she caught the word ‘jungle’.

William reached for her hand. ‘I think we need to have a little chat. I’ve spoken to Mother. She wasn’t terribly happy about all of this gossip about you and Jack Winter.’

‘And?’ The idea of William’s mother interfering with their relationship made Abbie’s hackles rise.

‘Well, Mother feels that you got yourself into this situation because of your job, and I tend to agree with her.’ She opened her mouth but he kept going. ‘It’s about time you settled down and gave up all this dangerous trekking about the world. Why, look at Miffy, she has her charity work and the museum thing. You would see much more of her and the girls than you do now.’ William patted her hand. ‘What I’m trying to say, chipmunk, is that it’s about time we got married.’

He gestured to the waiter, who brought a silver tray with two glasses and a bottle of champagne. Her heart sank. She was being mugged by Moët.

William rambled on. ‘Mother wasn’t pleased that I was prepared to forgive you. After all, the Dillard name has never been associated with scandal of any kind. But I believe that if you can show that you’re sorry, she will come around.’

‘Forgive me!’ Abbie choked on the words. The thought of endless suppers for three, with Dolores Dillard looking down her snobbish nose at her, was too awful to contemplate.

William toyed with the stem of his champagne glass.
‘But first, I need you to tell me that you weren’t intimate with him.’

Here it was. The moment of truth. There could be no comforting lies. No pretending that Honduras never happened. William had been her friend since they were children. It had seemed so right at the time to get engaged. Everyone expected it. But even if she could lie to herself, she owed William the truth. He could be a bit uptight, but she was fond of him. She couldn’t go through with the wedding, not while she felt so confused about her feelings for Jack.

‘William, I’m so sorry. I can’t lie to you. Jack and I …’

She couldn’t say the words. She hadn’t actually had sex with Jack, but what had happened felt somehow worse. Trying to ignore the hurt on his crestfallen face, Abbie touched her left hand. She wasn’t wearing his ring. The Dillard family diamond had spent more time in the bank than it had on her finger.

‘I’ll have the bank return the ring tomorrow. I’m sorry, William.’

Abbie waited for the flood of guilt, but it didn’t come. She should feel awful. Or broken-hearted. Instead, she felt free. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the waiter approach carrying two plates. She couldn’t possibly sit opposite William and pretend that everything was fine. She grabbed her wrap and fled.

Outside, it was starting to rain. Abbie flagged down a cab. ‘Take me to the nearest liquor store and after that you can drop me in the Village.’

Jack had had to fight to stay in one of Standard’s serviced apartments. The studio had wanted to put him into a five-star hotel like the Waldorf where he would be constantly tripping over starlets and reporters. But right now he couldn’t cope with that. He needed time to get his head straight. The jungle, the cave … walking out of that hotel room in Miami, Abbie all over his mouth and his fingers … her smell, her ripe ass, her glistening pussy, the sound she made when she was about to come. It was on a loop in his head and he couldn’t stop it.

He didn’t understand what had changed in Honduras. He’d had some hair-raising adventures before. After a few wild parties it was back to business as usual. This time, all he wanted was privacy to lick his wounds. Although it would help if he knew what his wounds were.

The basic apartment was normally used by travelling film crews. It had two bedrooms with minimal furnishing, a bathroom with a decent shower and a tiny kitchenette. Most important, it was empty and he had it all to himself.

He switched on the widescreen television and, out of habit, flicked to the E! channel. There he was, grungy and matted, smiling at the camera and, yeah – wait for it – suddenly looking shell-shocked and saying that damning ‘No comment’. Hell, he almost believed himself that he had slept with her. Abbie would freak.

He made himself a big cup of coffee, one of the things he had really missed in the jungle: water that tasted of chemicals didn’t cut it when he needed his caffeine fix. He almost missed the presenter’s voice saying, ‘Sources close to the couple in question reveal that, yes indeed, they did get hot and heavy. Ms Marshall, better known for her reporting skills than romancing the famous, seemed to have difficulty keeping her clothes on when Jack Winter was around.’

They flashed up a stock photograph of Abbie, buttoned-up and professional, interviewing President Obama. Then back to the airport in Miami, where she looked battered and exhausted. Jack liked that look better on her. Unbidden, his memory showed him a look he liked even better: Abbie naked after her swim.

The camera followed him when he broke away from Kev and Zeke to return her rucksack. He shouldn’t have done that. Then he heard it. The sound was muffled, as if it had been amplified and there was a lot of background noise, but his words were clear. ‘I’m Jack Winter. I’ve been sleeping with Abbie for the last four nights.’

Jack groaned. Oh yeah, that would do it.

He wanted to talk to Abbie, but realized he didn’t have her cell phone number. He called Zeke instead. The agent was in a hospital, on drugs and very happy. ‘Hey, did you see that news story about me and Abbie? I need you to call a press conference so we can put that right.’

Bryan chuckled. ‘Buddy, there’s nothing you can say that will change anyone’s mind about that. The more you protest, the guiltier you’ll look. Besides, it’s great publicity.
Jungle Heat
will sell out, just on this. The hero of the film
crashed in the jungle in real life, managed to get everyone out alive and nailed the leading lady. Pure box-office gold.’

‘Zeke, you bastard! It was you! You tipped off the media. That’s why you were so eager to get through to your office when we got to that town.’

His agent laughed.

Jack swore. ‘Come on, Zeke. There has to be some way to take the heat off Abbie. She donated her bra to you. Don’t give her a hard time.’

‘Not as hard as you gave her, I bet.’

Jack growled in warning. ‘Get her out of the headlines, Zeke, or so help me, I won’t go to a single premiere for this movie.’

‘So what? Everyone will just assume you’re holed up with the nubile Ms Marshall, banging her brains out.’

‘Zeke …’

Maybe the drugs were wearing off, or some shred of common sense still lived in Zeke Bryan’s brain. He sobered slightly. ‘OK, Jack, if you are serious about this, the best thing you can do is to avoid Abbie completely. Don’t contact her, don’t mention her and don’t be seen with her. And start dating Kym Kardell.’

Oh fuck. Bryan was right. Kym Kardell, his co-star in
Jungle Heat
, would eat up the publicity and make sure that no one mentioned Abbie’s name around him. Listening to her talk about manicures would rot his brain but it would be worth it. ‘Sure, sign me up, Zeke. Whatever it takes.’

‘I can’t believe I managed to look that good with only two make-up artists and one hair stylist, can you?’

Kym Kardell never stopped talking. She clutched on to Jack’s arm, smiled at the cameras, struck an instinctive pose, and still kept talking. He had to marvel at the amount of words she could manage without any content whatsoever.

And how come someone who could talk so much had never managed to remember the script? Jack had lost count of the number of ruined scenes because Kym had missed her cue or botched her lines.

They were standing on the red carpet at the New York premiere of
Jungle Heat
. Kym had mastered the art of posing while talking. ‘Of course, those awful cargo pants would make a snake look fat, but I think I rocked the look, don’t you? You could really see the result of my boot camp workout when I tied up my shirt to show my abs.’ She was still talking, but now she paused as if she expected a reply.

Jack looked down at her. She was short and delicate as a china doll, with long black hair that took hours of styling every day, and which he had never been allowed to touch. The camera loved her huge eyes and pouting mouth, but in real life there was an unnerving lack of mobility to them. Too much Botox, he guessed, and tried not to think of a woman whose face moved naturally and who looked addictively good first thing in the morning, even without a trace of make-up.

He put his arm around her and leaned down as if he were about to kiss her. The crowd cheered and the cameras flashed hysterically. He held the pose for a couple of seconds, then straightened up, trying to look sheepish, as if he had been caught doing something naughty.

Kym smiled up at him, managing an adoring look that
she had never managed to produce in front of a film camera.

Jack had promised Zeke that he would go to the premiere with Kym, then take her out dancing afterwards and Zeke would make sure the publicity machine followed them. After a week of this, the public would be convinced Abbie was just a girl he met in the jungle. He hoped.

‘Hey Jack, how’s Abbie?’ a reporter shouted at him.

He shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I haven’t talked to her since we landed in Miami.’ But he wanted to. The strength of his desire to talk to Abbie scared him. She was the one woman he couldn’t have. He had to forget her, even if it killed him.

‘So, you’re not seeing her?’

Jack managed to look incredulous and bored. ‘Ms Marshall? Of course not.’ He put his arm around Kym. ‘I’m seeing this lovely lady. But keep it under your hat, please.’

It would be all over the media by tomorrow.

He wondered what Abbie would think.

Abbie lifted the empty bottle and stared at it. How could the wine have evaporated so quickly?

Kit hiccupped and tossed back her dark cornrow braids. ‘OK, that’s enough drowning our sorrows. You need to tell me what’s really going on with you. And please don’t tell me that you’re broken-hearted about finishing with William.’