It was a good thing that she had been watching the monitor screen when he came back to his room after the filming that morning, had seen him get dressed and drop his car keys into his pocket. She'd telephoned Harris and gone down to the garage; she was already there, talking to Harris's chauffeur, when Webb had arrived.
"Hi, Ria." His voice had been uncompromisingly offhand at first.
"Webb? How strange-are you going into town by any chance? I have never been to Carmel, or Monterey either, and I was just trying to borrow one of the cars.. ."
He seemed to accept her story, and took her with him. And it had been an easy, pleasant evening with no more serious discussion, no questions. Until, to her annoyance, he'd called his friend Dave Black, asking him to join them for dinner. And this man Black had turned up with the woman who had written the book Greed for Glory-Robbie someone. Webb, casual as always, introduced everyone by first names.
But although she didn't show it, Ria was furious. Why? Why had he asked these people who were strangers to her along to share what should have been an intimate dinner for two? And the Robbie woman was jealous of her being with Webb-not hiding it too well. A typical, forward American woman. While she swore at him in her mind, Ria kept her smile and her manner light. She excused herself to go to the ladies' room, and noticed that the other woman stayed. Well, at least she would have him to herself on the ride back to the island.
It didn't help her mood to find, when she got back to the table, that Webb wasn't there any longer. Where the hell was he? While the other woman sat glowering at her, playing with the catch of her too-elaborate purse, Ria was forced to endure Dave Black's curious questions; followed, when she evaded them with shrugs and short answers, by a lot of pointless information she didn't care to hear about the history of the Monterey peninsula.
And when Webb came back-it must have been at least fifteen minutes later-he typically didn't offer any explanation.
Just slipped into his seat and ordered more cognac and coffee.
"Why did you stay away so long? What were you doing?" She asked him more sharply than she had intended, after they had started back. "I was bored, bored almost to tears with those stupid people!"
His sideways look warned her to silence as he drawled, "We're not that married any longer, Ria. You going to ask Espinoza what he was doing to console himself this evening?"
She subsided into sullen silence while she thought about her next move; and Webb, letting the Ferrari go once he had taken the exit back onto Highway I , let himself think about the telephone call he'd made to Vito.
He'd picked Vito over old buddy Peter, and they'd both been slightly guarded, not knowing if the telephone was tapped. Vito had answered the phone himself, which was unusual, his voice sounding faint as they went through the preliminaries.
"How's Lucy? And the boys?"
"I had a postcard. They're still on vacation. And you?"
"They keep me busy. I'm having dinner in Monterey right now, with Dave Black and Robbie Savage. And Ria. Anna-Maria. Remember her?"
"I think so." Vito's voice had been careful. "Has it been interesting? The newspapers have had a few stories. How is the filming going?"
Lapsing into rapid Italian, Webb told him as much as he'd learned, which wasn't much-except for Brightman's notes. And there, not quite knowing why he did, he held back a little. Ace in the hole? Security? Let Reardon sweat this one out for a while.
Anne was going back in time, remembering quite a bit. Figures outlined against the sunlight-angry voices. There had been a tape made, but Brightman didn't keep it in his room. He might have handed it over to Harris Phelps.
"Also, my room is bugged. They probably know I know, and wonder why I looked.
The microphone is behind the speaker grille-camera hidden behind a wall light fixture. Takes in the bed, mostly. I don't know if they've got all the other rooms set up the same way, or if they just picked on me." He heard Vito swear softly and added grimly, "You got any messages for me? Because I don't know when I'll have a chance to call in again. They try to keep us busy."
There had been only one message. From a man who gave his last name as Wolfe.
Peter's macabre sense of humor, if you could call it that.
Webb heard Ria's gasp of fear, and the car swerved-barely avoiding the cliff's edge that would have taken them hurtling down to the ocean like a wrinkled skin far below, missing by a hair's breadth the startled deer that bounded across the road. Damn!
He'd better keep his mind on his driving. He slowed down slightly, almost grudgingly, noticing as he did that the dashboard clock showed it was after one.
"Webb, Why do you drive like a madman?" A strand of Ria's hair blew against his face, faintly perfumed. Ria-his dream phantom. Succubus turned skeleton in the closet. He'd taken her with him today because he'd had no other choice. But it had been Anne that Peter's message concerned.
Why had she been so persistent, so determined to find out? Like the young wife walking into Bluebeard's locked chamber and being trapped inside, Anne found herself caught-and now she was sorry. There were some things she would have been better off not knowing-or seeing.
Why try to retrace her footsteps, or wish that she had turned back and gone to her own room after she'd left Karim? Why waste time on "should-haves"?
She had knocked softly on the door to the screening room, not expecting anyone to be there, turning the knob almost at the same time. If there had been a bat-wing brush of presentiment across her mind in that instant, it was too late to go back. They had finished dinner much earlier than usual; faces showing various degrees of surprise (and anger, too?) were turned to her, and beyond them she saw the open closet door and what it revealed.
Sheer force of will carried her inside the room, made her voice sound confused and puzzled.
"Oh-but I'm sorry! I didn't want to miss watching the rushes-oh, is that what Karim was talking about this evening?
How fascinating. Harris, you should have told me." Her words carried her further into the room and the blurred mold of faces resolved itself into separate, recognizable entities.
It was Sal Espinoza, and not Harris, who laughed, lightening the tension.
"So! I am afraid you have caught us men at our little amusement. We are all voyeurs, I am afraid, and this Danny Verrano was inventive, no?"
"He was inventive-yes." It was a relief to let her righteous anger creep into her voice.
"I think you are all disgusting. Is this the only way you can get your kicks?"
Rufus Randall looked at her through a swirl of cigar smoke that obscured his cold blue eyes before he said dryly, "I wouldn't say that. It's merely a form of entertainment, like those films you watched with us the other night. Why don't you join us again? I'm sure you can keep a secret better than our Egyptian friend can."
What had she let herself in for? And yet, she was curious. Anne looked directly at Harris, who wore a curiously taut smile as he belatedly came forward to take her arm.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Danny's little! toy before, Anne. I wasn't certain how you would react. But since you're here-would you like to see how this little gadget works?"
She wasn't shocked-after a while her feeling of stunned disbelief wore off, to be replaced by a mixture of emotions Anne couldn't name to herself. Anger-disgust-a feeling of queasiness to know that everything that had happened between her and Webb had been watched. And did Webb know, too? Had he deliberately led her on so that she'd give a better performance? Had he seen what had happened last night, when Karim came to her room?
And yet, in spite of everything, she discovered that there was a certain sick fascination about watching other people who didn't know they were being observed.
Sarah and Jean ... no, it wasn't possible! Claudia, with different men-one of them Webb. Webb and Anna-Maria ...
Harris, standing by her side with his shoulder brushing hers, said softly, "They've gone into town tonight. They should be back soon. Perhaps there'll be another entertaining scene between them."
"They're well matched, don't you think?" Espinoza murmured on her other side. He gave a soft laugh. "No, I'm not jealous-far from it. Jealousy is for fools, and children.
Anna-Maria does not belong to me, nor I to her. We merely-enjoy each other's company. Don't you believe in the freedom of the individual?"
Why did she suddenly feel trapped-caught up in a scene and circumstance she didn't quite understand? Her own fault for being so impetuous ...
Anne forced herself to shrug lightly under the weight of Harris's arm about her shoulders.
"Of course. But isn't this-what you have been doing-an invasion of the privacy of individuals?"
Speaking, for the first time, Yves Pleydel said, "But, petite, we are not your FBI! This equipment was already here, and has proved an amusing divertissement-a way to pass the time. These people are all actors, after all, and they would do the same thing for the cameras they are aware of. Besides, as a director, I find it brings me a better understanding of character, and natural reactions. Come, confess you are as intrigued as the rest of us!"
There was a slightly mocking tinge to his voice, as if he were subtly accusing her of being a hypocrite. And maybe she was, Anne thought miserably. Because she couldn't stop watching. There was no sound-there had been earlier, when she first walked in, she was almost certain of that-but now there was only the movement of lips, and bodies ... Randall cleared his throat, she could hear the sound of her own breathing, sounding far too fast, the slight creaking of Harris's chair as he leaned closer to her.
"Of course she's intrigued. And you'll keep our secret, won't you, love?"
"So-do you think she will be silent?" Pleydel, Espinoza, and Randall walked down the passageway to the elevator at its end.
"Don't see why not!" Randall grunted. "She'll be less anxious to talk about it once she's seen a rerun of that little scene with Karim, I should think." He slanted a look from under his bushy eyebrows at Espinoza. "And speaking of Karim, that young man's tongue wags when he loses his temper, doesn't it?"
"Our friend the emir warned us, didn't he?" Espinoza murmured, adding with a cynical smile, "As for Anne Mallory-I don't think she will tell anyone else. What woman can resist being part of a conspiracy? I think we can safely leave her to become convinced by Harris." He gave an exaggerated sigh.
"A pity we have to miss what takes place between Anna-Maria and Carnahan when they get back-but I have an appointment to keep tonight, for which I am alreadylate."
"Ah, that woman!" Yves Pleydel rolled his eyes. "Do I need to warn you that she is a bitch? But she comes to heel once she is shown who is master. And then-she can be most obliging." But Yves was more interested in the outcome of the little tete-a-tete between Harris and Anne. A puzzle-a mass of contradictions, that one. Cold and hot.
Quite amazing how she had developed into an actress. But had she been acting or reacting? She had a very sexy, very passionate love scene coming up with Webb Carnahan tomorrow, and he wondered how it would turn out.
"Do your cameras watch me, too?" Big Brother-she remembered Karim drawing that comparison, and couldn't help shuddering at the other thoughts that immediately flooded her mind.
Harris's face was a blur, the room was lighted only by the flickering black-and-white pictures on the video screen. She didn't know Harris any longer. She didn't even know herself, nor understand the thing inside her that made her keep watching what other people, people she knew, were doing, thinking themselves safe and unobserved.
Almost compulsively, Anne heard herself adding, "Does Webb know?" Giving herself away. Why should she care? It was enough that she knew Webb, and what he was like. Why then did she wait for Harris's answer with a thickly pounding heart?
"Anne." She heard the impatient sigh that escaped him; felt that he had started to say something different and changed his mind before he said carefully, "Which of your questions shall I answer first? No, he doesn't know-and yes, when I knew that Karim had come to you, I was jealous enough and curious enough to want to find out ..."
She licked dry lips, but had to ask anyway. "To find out-what?"
His voice dropped. "To find out how you would respond to him, Anne. All right, it was inexcusable. Perhaps I should have come into your room and ordered him out. But you have to understand, Anne, that I wanted to know. To know you. The fire under the ice. Passion hidden behind your look of untouched purity. We're the same kind, my dear; we hide our feelings."
His fingers brushed her face, tracing the outline of her jaw and cheekbones before he turned it up to meet his kiss-its sudden violence a contrast to the quiet, controlled way in which he had spoken to her just before. And Anne could neither respond nor resist; her mind felt battered and numb; her eyes stayed open.
Over Harris's shoulder she saw the screen become bright as a light was turned on.
Anna-Maria was smiling as she kicked off her shoes. She flung herself across the bed, turning on her back with a graceful, catlike movement. It was Webb's room, his bed, and suddenly he was in the picture, too, standing looking down at the woman who lay there offering herself to him so confidently. Waiting for him to take her.
"ANNE," YVES PLEYDEL SAID PATIENTLY. His face wore a long-suffering expression. "My dearest-you are not paying attention again. And this scene is very, very important. It must be done just right, and I am trying to explain how I want it played. It is the kind of scene where much of the spontaneity would be lost if I had to call for too many takes. You understand that, surely?" He shook his head reproachfully at her. "You should have gone to bed early last night. All of you!" He let his eyes move around the small room, resting on Webb Carnahan, who had just smothered a yawn; on Sarah Vesper, who gave him a bright smile belying the faint smudges under her eyes. Yves sighed. Christ, actors! All temperamental children-even Anne Mallory, who seemed to be learning fast. He hoped she would do as well today as she had done before, but there was an unusual tenseness in her, a faintly abstracted air. A pity he could not have stayed longer in the screening room last night. He wondered what had finally transpired between her and Harris Phelps. A strange relationship, that one. Phelps was not the kind of man one expected to have a weakness. It was to be hoped ...