Kiss Heaven Goodbye Part 60

Kiss Heaven Goodbye Part 60

Phil sat in silence for a while, drinking his wine slowly, the cogs turning in his head.

'Look, there is a way out of this,' he said finally. 'You've tried appealing to Randall and to Simon but it hasn't worked and they seem happy to make this deal happen without your consent. You could threaten them, tell them how much negative publicity you could generate for Rivera, but you don't want to be seen as bitter and unprofessional. So let's find another buyer. A buyer who will make a more attractive offer than a.s.sad.'

Sasha looked dubious. 'We haven't got much time. Simon's exclusivity on the deal lasts until Monday but he's going to be ready to formalise it any day.'

Philip shook his head. 'That doesn't matter. He's only made his first offer. It will take months, believe me.'

'I'm not so sure,' said Sasha. 'Randall gave me the impression it was a done deal. I don't want to take any chances on this, Phil.'




She sat back in her chair, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. She felt better off-loading her problems to Phil, just talking to him made things simpler, but it was all too much for her at the moment; her nerves were too raw.

'Can we do this tomorrow?' she asked, surprising herself.

'Sure.'

'It's just there's been so much going on, I think I need to veg out this evening.'

Phil laughed. 'You, veg out?'

'I mean it. Let's watch a film or something.'

'I'm not entirely sure you'll be impressed with my DVD collection, ' he said, opening the TV cabinet where they were all neatly stacked up. Taking her wine, Sasha walked across to flick through them.

'The Hundred Greatest Rugby Tries,' she read, pulling a face. 'The Sylvester Stallone collection ...Die Hard ... ... Crank 2 Crank 2 ... Well, it's nice to see that you're in touch with your feminine side, Bettany.' ... Well, it's nice to see that you're in touch with your feminine side, Bettany.'

She walked across to a leather sofa and sat down, curling her legs under her. 'OK, forget the DVD,' she said. 'Let's just finish the bottle of wine and you can tell me about Australia. Why did you leave, or is that a stupid question?'

'Actually, I haven't really left,' said Philip, sitting at the other end of the sofa. 'Lily and her mum are still out there, so I couldn't move back to London permanently. This job is just a twelve-month secondment, so I'll be going back to Sydney next April.'

Sasha tried to hide her disappointment. Philip had never been the one who excited her; he had always been her partner, co-conspirator, friend. He'd believed in her when everyone else thought she was an airhead fashionista unable to run anything except a bubble bath. And a decade ago she'd been so certain he wasn't right for her. Too dull. Too steady. But now? What was wrong with someone who treated you with respect, who knew you inside out, good bits and bad, and loved you still? She felt a stinging sense of regret.

'I'm so sorry about the way things ended between us,' she said softly.

Philip shrugged. 'I loved you and you hurt me. But when I eventually heard the whispers about your relationship with Robert I knew there was no point being with you when you just wanted to be with someone else. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry how it ended with Robert. The accident, I mean.'

'Thank you, but you didn't have to say that. Other men would have secretly gloated.'

'Gloated? How could you gloat that someone got killed?'

'What I mean is that not everyone has as much dignity and decency as you.'

Tension crackled between them and, unable to stand it any longer, she reached out to touch him, but Philip pulled away.

'That's not why I invited you here this weekend.'

'I know,' she said, her eyes beginning to glisten.

'Oh Sasha ...' he said, taking her hand and kissing her fingers gently. It felt so good, so right. She gave a nervous little laugh.

'I feel like a teenager snogging on my parents' sofa,' she said.

Philip smiled. 'In which case,' he said, 'why don't we take this upstairs to bed?'

74

He couldn't sleep. How could he? n.o.body could rest with such a weight hanging over their head. Miles Ashford turned over and looked at the red digital numbers of his bedside clock: 3.45 a.m. He had taken a Xanax at midnight; it hadn't even made him drowsy. Had it been only six hours since his attorney Michael Marshall had called, telling him that a detective superintendent from the Royal Bahamas Police Force wanted to question him?

Miles sat up and reached for his cigarettes, hoping it would do something to relieve the anxiety an emotion he was unused to. A man as successful as Miles Ashford had not got where he was today without being able to handle extreme pressure; he just didn't get rattled. Not when his $500 million residential project had to be shelved in Dubai last year. Not when the banks were breathing down his neck after the collapse of Lehman Brothers. Not even when he had run into a Kosovan gangster when he had tried to buy a series of brothels in London's Soho. All those things were just setbacks, concerns or irritations. This ... well, this was different.

He swung his legs off the bed and reached for his navy silk robe, pulling it tightly around his body before walking through to his study. It was Miles' favourite room in his Fifth Avenue duplex, with a huge bay window that looked out on to Central Park. After dark, it resembled a black hole in the heart of the city. Whoever coined the expression 'the dead of night' was thinking of 3.45 a.m. in NYC. Even in the city that never sleeps, this sliver of time after the party people had gone to bed and the early risers the market traders, the workaholic Wall Street tyc.o.o.ns had not yet started their day was a moment that was eerie and still.

Miles didn't turn on the light, content to just gaze out on to the city, letting the darkness and silence soothe him. He closed his eyes and immediately felt himself transported back to the island. For a second, his memory of that night was so clear he could almost smell the sea air, the pineapple bushes, the mangrove. Growing up, Angel Cay had been his Eden, a private pirate island to explore and to run wild in, rich with imagination and adventures. But not any more, not now.

He turned from the window and sat at his desk. His empire spanned a dozen industries and six continents, yet the gla.s.s surface of his work station was remarkably uncluttered. In two hours' time it would be set for breakfast by his butler Stevens and the world's most influential newspapers would be in a neat pile ready for him to read. But now it just contained a stack of contracts, a phone, a copy of Fortune Fortune magazine and a small desk lamp which finally, reluctantly, he turned on. Blinking in the yellow light, he picked up the sleek black phone and dialled his attorney. If he had to go back to Angel Cay to confront this, he wasn't going to do it alone. Sasha Sinclair, Alex Doyle, his sister. They were going to come with him. magazine and a small desk lamp which finally, reluctantly, he turned on. Blinking in the yellow light, he picked up the sleek black phone and dialled his attorney. If he had to go back to Angel Cay to confront this, he wasn't going to do it alone. Sasha Sinclair, Alex Doyle, his sister. They were going to come with him.

75

Sasha lay naked in Philip's bed, enjoying the sensation of crisp Irish linen on her bare skin. Her head was foggy from too much red wine just a couple of gla.s.ses was enough to do that these days and as she started to feel more awake, she felt torn between relief and happiness that she and Philip had got together again and a flood of discomfort from being here, in her ex-boyfriend's bed, when she should have been in the spare room concentrating on sorting out her career. Hearing a creak at the door, she looked up and pulled the sheet up to cover her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

'I think we're past that stage now.' Phil smiled, bringing her a mug of tea.

Sasha giggled, immediately feeling herself relax. Don't be so uptight Don't be so uptight, she thought. This is what you wanted, isn't it? This is what you wanted, isn't it?

He sat down and stroked her bare shoulder. 'You were dead to the world.'

'What time is it?'

'Midday.'

She sat up. 'You are kidding me!'

He laughed and shook his head. 'How about going out for breakfast at Daylesford?'

She gave him a saucy smile. 'How about breakfast in bed?'

'Or lunch, as the case may be.'

Sasha stretched out, smiling.'How completely decadent,' she said, feeling happier than she'd felt in ages.

'Well, in the spirit of decadence, I'll see if I can whip up something full of fat and carbohydrates,' said Philip, heading for the kitchen.

Faintly she could hear her mobile ringing. Swinging her legs out of the bed, she scrabbled it out of her bag and pressed accept.

'Sasha Sinclair?' The voice was unfamiliar, the accent foreign.

'Yes.' She hesitated. 'Who is this?'

'Detective Inspector Carlton from the Royal Bahamian Police Force in Na.s.sau.'

Na.s.sau? She felt her skin go cold, her heart fluttering with panic.

'How can I help you?' she asked as evenly as she could.

'It's in connection with a body found on Angel Cay, the Exumas island belonging to the Ashford family.'

'Yes, I know it,' she said. 'A body? Has there been an accident there?'

'No, Miss Sinclair. It's a very old body, discovered buried near one of the beaches. Initial forensics have put time of death around twenty years ago. Mode of death blunt trauma to the head.'

'That sounds awful,' said Sasha. 'But why are you telling me all this?'

'Because you visited the island regularly around this time on account of your relationship with Miles Ashford.'

'That's true. But I don't know anything about an accident. Or a body.'

She willed herself to stay calm, stay vague with what she said, although her pulse was racing.

'We've interviewed several former staff from Angel Cay working there at that time. Apparently twenty years ago a boat boy disappeared from the island. At the time everyone a.s.sumed he'd just left as he was about to get dismissed.'

She sipped her tea, but it just made her feel nauseous. Her heart was pounding fiercely. Her skin felt crawly. Breathe, Sasha, breathe Breathe, Sasha, breathe, she thought, focusing on her yoga training.

'Really? I don't remember hearing about that.'

'The week he went missing, you were one of the dozen or so guests on the island,' pressed Carlton.

'As I said, I don't recall anything about a disappearance of a staff member.'

'Well even so, you will appreciate that we need to interview you.'

Sasha paused, anger beginning to overtake her fear. What if she really didn't know anything about it? Did they expect her to drop everything and go running off halfway around the world to tell them that? And anyway, if she did, wouldn't that be tantamount to an admission of guilt?

'I appreciate you have a job to do, Detective,' she said. 'But I have a job too. I run an international fashion label. I don't have enough time for breakfast, let alone to come to the Bahamas to help you with your inquiries.'

His voice took on a sterner edge. 'Don't make this more difficult for yourself, Miss Sinclair.'

'With respect, Dectective, the difficulty is yours. I have told you everything I know about this. If you wish to speak to me further, please contact my lawyer. I would be more than happy to give you his number.'She took a cold shower straight after the call, shivering in the tiny cubicle as the icy water pinched her skin. Any thoughts of Randall Kane, a.s.sad or saving her business had evaporated to be replaced by a sense of dread that Angel Cay, the boat boy and that horrible summer were finally coming back to haunt her.

Grabbing a fluffy white towel, she rubbed her face in the luxurious, comforting folds and quickly dressed. She went downstairs and pa.s.sed through the kitchen where Philip was cooking bacon, eggs and beans on the Aga.

'I'm going out,' she said, reaching for the latch of the farmhouse door.

'Hey, what about the food?' he said.'And anyway, your hair's wet.'

'I don't care,' said Sasha, fumbling with the lock.

He moved the frying pan from the heat. 'Sash? What's going on? Who was that on the phone?'

She pulled open the door and ran outside. It was raining, but she didn't feel it; she just had to get away from the house, to clear her head, try and think.

'Sasha, wait, please.'

Turning, she saw Philip striding to catch up with her.

'Leave it, Philip, you can't help,' she called, but he had already reached her, grabbing her shoulders and holding her firm.

'Sasha. What's wrong? Tell me.'

The rain was soaking his shirt and he was shivering.

'I can't,' she said, the words feeling strangled in her throat. 'I just, I can't ...'

'Yes you can,' he said, taking her in his arms and leading her back to the house. 'You can tell me everything.'

He towel-dried her hair, wrapped her in a dressing gown and sat her down at the farmhouse table, putting a hot cup of coffee in front of her. She wrapped her fingers around it and began her story.

'It's Miles, Philip,' she said. 'It always is. I can't seem to get away from him. From the second I arrived at my old school, Danehurst, I was drawn to him. He was everything I wanted to be. Rich, successful, glamorous. I thought that just being with him would make my life so special.'

Philip nodded, but stayed silent, letting her talk.

'I loved him even though he didn't make me feel good about myself a lot of the time. Miles liked to play power games even then, liked to keep me in my place. But I didn't care. When you're with Miles Ashford, you feel untouchable. People would do anything to be my friend and I could see a future for myself beyond my middle-cla.s.s Surrey background that my mum had brought me up to despise.'

She glanced at him with a sense of deeply buried shame.

'After our A levels we went to Angel Cay, the Ashfords' Caribbean home. I loved it there, it was like Paradise. On the last night we stayed up all night. Drinking, smoking, taking drugs. Just before dawn, four of us, Miles and his sister, myself and Alex Doyle you know, the musician? went skinny-dipping in a cove, and on the way back to the house we found a dead body. Or at least we thought it was dead.'

'Who was it? Did you know?'

'A boat boy called Bradley,' she said, feeling more courage as she told her story. 'Miles said we should do nothing about it. That we should leave it for someone else to find. People would point the finger at us, the police would investigate us. So that's what we did. Left it. Miles said he would get his father to sort it out.'

Philip creased his brow. 'So why are you so freaked out about it today?'

'Because that was the Bahamas police on the phone. They've found a dead body buried under the beach at Angel Cay and they want to interview me about it.'

'And you think it's the boat boy?'

'Who else could it be?'