‘Nightmares?’ Stevie gently pressed.
‘Kinda.’ Oddly, not of the night she had killed him. Instead, images from her marriage and the games her husband had subjected her to. Perhaps that was her special punishment, her own bespoke hell—because now she was no better than him, just
as morally bankrupt and as undeserving of redemption, condemned to a life trapped inside those dreadful recollections.
‘B …?’ Stevie was concerned. ‘You’ve gone white as a sheet.’
She sipped the too-sweet tea. ‘I’m fine.’
‘If you think it would help to talk about what happened …’
‘It wouldn’t.’
‘All right.’
‘I’m not ready. Sorry.’
Stevie took her hand. ‘You know I’m here, don’t you? I’ll always be here.’
Bibi kept her eyes down, afraid that if she met Stevie’s kind, understanding gaze, her confession would fall straight out of her mouth, thick and scaly as a big ugly fish.
‘Talk to me about you,’ she said, desperate to put her mind to anything else. ‘I wanna hear how you’re doing, Steve.’
Stevie sat back. ‘Things are busy.’ Such an anodyne comment in light of Bibi’s misfortune felt like a brush-off so she added, ‘We’re hoping to get pregnant.’
Bibi’s face lit up. ‘You are? Any luck?’
‘Nah. It’s early.’
‘I’ll say. Why the big rush?’
Stevie frowned, but it was tempered by a smile. ‘I met the right person.’
‘That’s romantic.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Xander’s been good to me. Since what happened, I mean. You’re lucky.’
‘I know.’ She paused. ‘Although sometimes … No, it’s silly.’
Bibi leaned forward. ‘What?’
Stevie thought about whether or not to voice what was on her mind. ‘It’s not a big deal, it’s just …’ She put her
elbow on the counter and supported her chin in her hand. ‘Sometimes I feel like there’s stuff going on with Xander that I haven’t got a clue about.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘He closes up.’ She sighed. ‘Not all the time, just occasionally. And it’s fine, you know—there’re bits of people we never see, and it’s not like I have to know everything about him and he about me … I guess it’s that he gets this
look
. I don’t know how else to describe it. He gets further and further away from me, in his thoughts, I mean, and then he seems like he’s about to tell me something but at the last second decides not to.’
Bibi waited. ‘Might you be looking too much into it?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Xander’s a trustworthy guy, Steve. Believe me. By rights I ought to hate every man out there but I don’t hate Xander. He’s decent.’
Stevie smiled. ‘I know he is. I expect I’m just thinking of reasons for it to go wrong.’
Her cell rang. ‘One second.’ She picked it up and went to the patio doors. After a brief conversation, she folded it shut. ‘That was Marty,’ she said, refilling their cups. ‘I was talking to him about you. An agent friend of his is seeking new clients. Can I put you in touch?’
Bibi had been approached for representation a number of times since her husband’s death, but the intentions behind the offers were seldom honourable. ‘I dunno,’ she said cautiously. ‘Work’s the last thing on my mind.’
Stevie sat down. ‘So what’s next?’
‘I’m taking it a day at a time. Dirk Michaels has booked me in for a week on Cacatra—I know, I know, he’s the last person I want to accept favours off, but he insisted, saying it’s what Linus would have wanted. So I can get away from
it all.’ She bit her lip, uncertain. ‘I could do with getting out of LA. And after the favours I’ve done for him …’
‘Cacatra?’ Stevie had read about it—a remote island in the middle of the ocean. She’d thought it was a rehab spa, at the forefront of a host of breakthrough therapies.
‘Dirk knows Reuben van der Meyde,’ said Bibi. ‘I imagine he struck a deal. There are dozens of treatments I can access while I’m out there, all paid for by him. Though the only things I want to prioritise right now are blue sky, deep sea and doing as little as possible.’
Stevie agreed. ‘It sounds exactly the thing you need. But when you’re back, let’s hook up with Marty’s contact, OK? I think it’s going to make a difference to how you feel, B; help you get some confidence back. Right now it’s all about you being Linus Posen’s widow, but it doesn’t have to be. You’re not Bibi Posen any more, remember? You’re Bibi Reiner. And that’s who you were all along; you just lost sight of her for a while. So, after a little R&R, soon as you’re back on your feet, we’ll—’
Bibi cut in. ‘Steve, I killed Linus.’
Stevie didn’t think she’d heard right. ‘What?’
‘I killed him.’
It took a moment for her meaning to become clear. ‘Oh, sweetheart, you mustn’t think that.’ She reached across and touched her friend’s arm. ‘It was an accident—’
‘No.’
Bibi withdrew. ‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you. It wasn’t.’
Stevie searched the other woman’s face. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I killed him, Steve. I lured him into his favourite game and then I took his life. It was planned; it was intentional; it was entirely in cold blood.’ She swallowed. ‘I
murdered
him.’
38
Lori
Miles from the mainland, Cacatra was a beautiful jewel in a glittering ocean, a destination that was somehow part of the world and yet distinct from it, as if, by a trick of light or a sleight of hand, a curtain had been lifted to reveal a glorious, heavenly secret.
A solitary figure was waiting when the helicopter touched down on the south of the island. Its rotors whipped up a startling wind from which the man didn’t flinch. He was wearing a charcoal shirt, tucked in loosely at the waist, and his hands were in his pockets.
Lori’s ears were buzzing from the noise of the pistons. The helicopter had dipped and bumped as they’d come in over the cliffs, and she was relieved when finally it met ground. An official in a canary-yellow jacket came rushing over to release the doors and shout a reminder to keep her arms down. He gestured towards the man standing outside the perimeter.
The sunlight was strong, rendering her surroundings hyper-real. Close up JB’s eyes were silver, the pupils vanishing.
‘Fun, isn’t it?’ Smoothly he claimed her bag and swung it on to his shoulder. ‘I used to fly them myself. Not so much any more.’
‘You didn’t need to do this.’
‘I know.’
‘You seem to know a lot of things.’
For the first time she saw humour in his eyes. Warm. She found it hard to look at him.
‘Shall I show you where you’re staying?’ he asked.
‘Sure.’ Lori took in her immediate surroundings. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Good.’ He didn’t take his eyes from her. ‘I think so, too.’
The helipad and runway took advantage of the only level terrain on the island. From here, the rest was hidden behind a steep rocky bank. Vehicles waited beyond the fence to meet new arrivals and a private jet was unloading a short distance away. Lori was surprised by how wild it was. The rugged cliff face, chalky and golden and green, gave way to a sheer, rocky drop, below which the blue ocean lashed angrily, white horses riding into war, the island an unwelcome obstruction in an otherwise unblemished expanse.
JB carried her bags towards a gleaming black Jeep.
‘You’re going to fall in love with this,’ he told her.
Cacatra was enormous. The part Lori had seen in photographs and magazines must have been just a fraction. A winding road was carved from north to south, along which the Jeep now sped, JB at the wheel. Occasionally they came off on to a narrow snaking track, a short cut through
marshy patches sunk behind ironed-out golf courses, natural outdoor pools and lush rock waterfalls, tennis courts and diving centres and boats bobbing patiently on transparent water.
To the north, the ocean was calmer. Fanning from the island were twenty or more wooden walkways, at the tips of each the villas where visitors were accommodated. Another, smaller island could be seen further out, on which, just decipherable, stood a lighthouse, thimble-sized in the distance.
‘Cacatra is a spa on a mega scale,’ JB was explaining. For politeness’ sake, she listened, but she’d give him nothing more. The unspoken encounter of almost two years ago sat between them like a forgotten offspring, once demanding attention, now resigned to obscurity. ‘It’s the highest order of recuperation and leisure on the planet. Anything a client wants, we have it. Everything they are yet to think of, we have that too.’
They rejoined the smoother road and slickly he changed gear. ‘Many use it like a club or a holiday retreat,’ he continued. ‘A week of fresh ocean air, concentrated workouts, time away from the spotlight—that is what they pay for. Others come for different reasons.’
Lori watched his hand on the steering wheel, the way his Rolex flashed in the sun and the muscles in his forearms as they pulled and relaxed.
‘Therapy?’ She had heard about troubled stars sent by worried management—addictions, depression, anxiety, Cacatra treated it all.
‘The island accommodates every mode of recovery. We employ a team of specialists from across the world. Time spent here has proven results.’
‘Like rehab?’
‘Everyone in LA goes to rehab, it’s a given—especially for girls your age.’ She resented the observation. ‘Months later, the problems remain. Cacatra is different: you visit once and you don’t need to again. It makes you see life with new eyes. That is the key. Rediscovering nature can be like an epiphany. This is the dearest place in the world to me.’
Lori was touched by the expression.
‘When we’re children,’ he elaborated, ‘we are full of amazement at the miracle of life. We want to find out, we want to know. We must know everything—all the secrets there are, even if we would be happier in ignorance.’
She looked at him sideways. ‘And when we’re grown?’
‘When we’re grown we see that ignorance is precious.’ His jaw hardened. ‘Once you know a secret, you can never go back.’
They mounted a steep incline. ‘What about me, then?’ she asked. ‘Why am I here?’
‘Escape,’ he answered. ‘The third reason they come. People who are known the globe over pay vast amounts for privacy. It interests me how treasured loneliness can be.’
‘Who says I need privacy?’
The Jeep came to a halt. They were on the highest point of the island. From here Lori could make out the landscape’s sweeping contours, the patches of different terrain and clusters of chalky-white buildings.
‘I do.’ He slammed the door and came round to her side. ‘The attention over Selznick—’ was that a grimace as he said Peter’s name, or had she imagined it? ‘—will worsen before it improves.’ On the warm wind Lori caught the aroma of JB’s skin, the same as it had ever been: the same
as that first day, the same as La Côte. ‘A fortnight of troubling publicity, then it’s over.’
He seemed certain. How many other La Lumière girls had JB offered this to?
They were parked outside a low-lying structure with an ornamental front. Steps led up to a grand entrance, on either side of which were poised two stone-carved sea monsters, Oriental in style, with ridged heads and tongues like fire.
‘Follow me.’
Inside, the air conditioning was prickly cool. Behind a marble counter, a smiling woman in a blue uniform greeted them.
‘Welcome to Cacatra.’
‘Lori will take Villa 19,’ he informed her. The woman appeared fleetingly surprised before vanishing wordlessly into an adjacent room. JB put one arm on the counter. Lori caught his eye. They watched each other a moment.
‘Enjoy your stay, Ms Garcia.’ The uniform reappeared and a card was passed to Lori. She reached to take it but JB claimed it first, slipping it into the top pocket of his shirt and patting it once as if to make sure it was there.
Set apart from the rest of the accommodation, Villa 19 was positioned yards from Cacatra’s easternmost tip, where the rocks ended abruptly and plunged into turbulent sea.
JB brought the vehicle to rest a short distance away. ‘Dramatic, isn’t it?’
To Lori it was the perfect word. ‘I love it.’
The villa was sparsely furnished, rustic in style and charming for those reasons. Lori felt inexplicably at home, and, entering the master bedroom, she saw why. The windows
at the foot of the bed were thrown open, crisp white curtains dancing in the breeze. From here, high up, there was nothing to see but endless ocean. As she gazed out at the view she knew it from her fantasies. This was the place she had visited when she was a girl, immersed in her books, wishing for a future … quite simply, it was the same. The likeness was irrefutable, a cousin of déjà vu but with none of the shadows that cast it into doubt.
‘We used to stay here when I was a boy,’ said JB. ‘In this villa.’
She turned, taken aback by his honesty.
‘Every summer.’ He had his eyes open but something in him was dreaming. ‘My parents came. They would let me join them.’
It struck her as an odd way of putting it.
‘Some years I’d bring a friend. A girl I knew from our village …’ His gaze refocused. ‘It was a long time ago.’
Lori waited. ‘Are they happy memories?’
He blinked, looked away. ‘I’ll leave you to settle in.’
The moment was lost if ever it had been there. JB tapped the doorframe once, with his knuckle, an absent-minded, affectionate gesture. The ghost of a smile played on his top lip, pulling gently at the scar like a child tugging his mother’s arm, pleading for a game.
Reuben van der Meyde’s mansion was in its own territory, positioned above a private horseshoe of pale sand, metres from the beach. Lori recognised it from the pictures she had seen.
‘Cacatra is Reuben’s base,’ qualified JB, ‘as it is for me. The rest of the time, he travels.’
She wanted to know where JB lived on the island. Was it
on a cliff edge, like Villa 19? Or less imaginative, like here: a gentle gradient chosen over a sudden drop? Was Rebecca Stuttgart there too, waiting for her husband to return?
At the top of the winding stone steps, an irate-looking woman appeared. Small, flinty eyes, pinched with suspicion, flitted between JB and Lori. A boy of about six trailed at her heels.