True (16 page)

Max stood. 'You okay? Can I get you anything?'

'No, thanks,' she said, trying not to look as flustered as she felt. 'Excuse me.'

She had to stop herself running to the Ladies', where she stood by the basin and dabbed at her dress with cold water, then stood by the hand-dryer until the dark stain faded. She wanted to go home, but this was Phoebe's evening. She braced herself, opened the door and stepped out.

Leo stood in front of her. She had always thought him hand-some, but not tonight. Where his face had once seemed sensitive it now looked weak. His aura appeared diminished. She couldn't help comparing his boyishness unfavourably with Max's brooding charisma.

'Did you get my message?' he said. He glanced furtively over his shoulder. 'I've missed you - I should never have let you go.'

'You didn't let me go, Leo. You dumped me.'

'Imade a mistake.'

A few weeks ago Isabella would have given anything to hear Leo say those words, but now they angered her. She looked across the restaurant and saw Giovanna rise from their table. 'Does she know she's a mistake?'

'It's her birthday. That's why we're here. She wanted to go to the best restaurant in Milan. I can't tell her yet. I don't want to hurt her.'

'You didn't have a problem hurting me, Leo, but I was only the fiancee who'd travelled half-way across the world to marry you.'

He gestured towards Odin's table and Max. 'Is he your new . . . ?'

Isabella almost laughed. 'For Christ's sake, Leo, leave me alone.' She tried to walk past him, but now Giovanna was in her path. She had been drinking.

'Leave him alone, you bitch,' Giovanna hissed. 'Why can't you accept that Leo doesn't want you any more?'

Isabella groaned. 'Don't do this, Giovanna. If you want to shout at someone, shout at him. He's the one doing the harassing.'

Giovanna's eyes went to Leo, then back to her, and Isabella almost felt sorry for her. Then Giovanna raised a hand -- but a larger one gripped her wrist.

'Is everything okay, Isabella?' Max said.

'Fine,' she said, through gritted teeth.

Max offered Leo Giovanna's hand. 'I think you should take her home.'

Leo glared at him but something in Max's tone made him lead Giovanna away.

When Isabella was back in her seat, Kathryn leaned across the table to her. 'How many more of your exes are you planning on seeing tonight?'

Isabella rolled her eyes. 'Two's enough.'

'You okay?'

Isabella raised her glass. 'I'll survive. But if Billy Bohannon from school turns up I'm outta here.'

By the time Max returned to his seat the wine had loosened her tongue. Her pride told her to say nothing, but another part of her knew that if she didn't resolve this now it would haunt her. 'What happened between us in Antibes, Max?'

Max blinked. Then he sat forward, palms together, fingers forming a steeple: he had become the banker about to tell a client why he couldn't advance them a loan. 'I'm not sure.' He gave a controlled smile. 'All I know is that it was a wonderful moment of madness.'

She was surprised by how much his clinical dismissal of the episode hurt her. Every last shred of her remaining pride demanded that she change the subject. But she couldn't. She glanced down the table to where the others were immersed in their own conversations. 'I've had crushes and holiday romances before, Max, but this was different. More intense and consuming than anything I ever felt. And I thought you felt it too.' She lowered her voice. 'We said we loved each other, Max. I don't know about you, but I've never said that to anyone before and not meant it.'

'I've never said it before,' he said. 'But it was a mistake.'

'A mistake?

Something flashed in his eyes. Then it was gone. 'I don't do love.'

'You don't "do love"?' She felt her cheeks colouring: he viewed their two days together as something he had endured radier than enjoyed. 'You talk as though it's a choice - a weakness, like cigarettes.'

'Isn't it?' Then his voice softened. 'Can I ask you a personal question, Isabella?'

She almost laughed at his formality. 'Of course.'

'You live your life so passionately -- so head on. How do you survive? How do you protect yourself?'

'From what?Love?'

He shrugged.

'No one can protect themselves from that, Max. Not even you.' The expression on his face changed and suddenly he looked like a boy. 'You can't control love, Max.'

'I can try.'

'Why?'

He frowned. 'Because it makes us weak and vulnerable,' he said.

She looked into his blue eyes until he lowered his gaze. Now she thought she understood. Someone had broken his heart. But, then, whose heart hadn't been broken at least once? 'I disagree. Love doesn't necessarily make you weak. It can make you strong -- make you want to be a better person.' She stood up to leave. 'You wonder how I survive "doing love"? Well, I'm not unusual. People "do love" all the time.'

AS MAX WATCHED ISABELLA MOVE DOWN THE TABLE TO SAY GOODBYE to her friends, he felt an unsettling blend of frustration and admiration. How could someone so smart, passionate and brave be naive enough to believe love made you stronger?

He admired her, though. She might be an idealist but she had steel too. She didn't flinch from living her beliefs, however flawed. He wondered how Leo could have chosen the wealthy, bland Giovanna over her, then saw that he was about to do the same thing. His safe choice was Delphine Chevalier: she would further the Kappel interests and didn't threaten his emotional status quo. Yet Leo apparently regretted his choice and wanted Isabella back -- it seemed that playing it safe carried its own risks.

Max felt an uncharacteristic stab of sadness that Isabella, with all her intelligence, should be so deluded as to think you couldn't control love. Her father's drug had destroyed that myth. He glanced at Phoebe and almost sighed. Controlling love was depressingly easy.

It had been child's play to inject Phoebe covertly with the permanent version of the NiL drug. Odin was a loyal client who had never forgotten how Kappel Privatbank's funding and business consultancy had helped him succeed in the cut-throat fashion world. Max's regular financial update with him had been in the diary for months, and when he had voiced an interest in meeting Phoebe, the Norwegian designer had been delighted to schedule his star model's fitting session so that it followed their meeting. He had shaken her hand, held it a fraction longer than usual -- and that was all the opportunity he needed to deliver it. Arranging the encounter between Phoebe and his father at the fashion show had been simpler still. As for love making you stronger, he had only to look at the devotion in Phoebe's eyes now to see how false that was. Even he had been surprised by the dramatic way in which she had fallen in love at first sight. Love had enslaved Phoebe Davenport, but in his father's eyes he had seen only triumph and lust. As Ilium progressed, Isabella would learn for herself how ruthlessly love could be controlled.

He had once heard someone say that the more love you gave the more you got back. But that wasn't true. His mother had given more than anyone and received little in return. Love was a tryanny that benefited the loved, never the lover.

He watched Isabella say goodbye to Kathryn Walker and Gisele Steele, then approach Phoebe. Something in her friend's tone must have reached Phoebe and broken the drug's spell, because she tore her eyes away from his father and followed Isabella into the night.

He watched his father frown, and smiled.

ONE HOUR LATER

'WHATIS ITWITH ME? JUSTWHEN I GET OVER LEO, AND NEVER want to see him again, he comes crawling back. And then the man I think I do want says he doesn't want me because he doesn't "do love".'

Phoebe poured Isabella another glass of Amaretto. 'There's no logic with love.'

Isabella sipped her drink, willing it to calm her. Being in Phoebe's kitchen helped. Like the rest of her open-plan penthouse, it was warm and welcoming: natural wood and Italian tiles complemented by pale terracotta walls. Beyond the kitchen and the spacious living area, a large window opened on to a roof terrace and presented a spectacular view of Milan's Duomo, lit up against the night sky. Inside, the apartment was surprisingly homely for one whose lifestyle was as glamorous and nomadic as Phoebe's. She collected small penguin sculptures and didn't seem to care if they had come out of a Christmas cracker or were exquisite crystal figurines for which she had paid a fortune. There were, however, few pictures of her - except in the bathroom, whose walls were adorned with framed Vogue covers. As she liked to say, 'It's hard to take yourself too seriously when you're on the loo.'

Calmer now, Isabella said, 'Thanks for coming back with me. You didn't have to.'

'You're my friend.'

'I know, but I'm sorry if I ruined your night.'

'Don't be stupid. I had a great time.'

Isabella smiled. 'I noticed. What exacdy was going on with old man Kappel?'

'He's not that old.'

Isabella couldn't believe it: Phoebe Davenport, the coolest, most desirable model on the planet, was blushing over an encounter with a geriatric. 'C'mon, Phoebe, you can't be serious. This is too weird. He's Max's father, for Christ's sake.'

But Phoebe wasn't laughing. 'So what? I know it's weird, and I can't explain it, but I've never felt like this before. When I saw his face, it was like I'd always known him. It was electric. I felt this rush - this need to be with him.'

'So what happened to your promise never to let anyone get under your skin until you were good and ready? Remember the Italian count? He was gorgeous, courted you for months and promised you die world, but you said you weren't ready for commitment. Now, after one night, an old guy who smokes like a chimney, speaks like he's chewing sandpaper and has had half as many wives as Henry the Eighth claims your heart. What's going on, Phoebe?'

Phoebe shrugged. 'All I know is that even now I need to see him again. Perhaps he reminds me of my father -- maybe I'm looking for a father figure.'

Isabella clinked her glass against Phoebe's. 'Well, good luck, girl.' This was beyond weird, but love didn't obey the rules of logic, and who was she to tell her friend how or who to love? 'Let's just hope Max isn't a chip off the old block and your relationship with a Kappel pans out better than mine did.' She would never forget the thunderbolt when she had seen Max on the beach. Or, even more so, when she had been inches away from death and he had stepped out of the shadows to rescue her. She still marvelled at the contrast between his cold courage against her attackers and his later gentle-ness. That was why it was so hard to forget or hate him: she had fallen in love with his deeds as much as his looks.

Perhaps that was how it was with Max's father and Phoebe. Because the beautiful Phoebe couldn't possibly have fallen for the old man's face.

THREE DAYS LATER

HELMUT KAPPEL STEPPED OUT OF HIS CHAUFFEUR-DRIVEN MERCEDES and strode across the car park towards Carlo Bacci's laboratory. He couldn't recall ever having felt so alive. He remembered the look on Phoebe Davenport's face when she had first set eyes on him. The sexual power had surged through him and he had felt like a young buck, the envy of every man. But that wasn't why he was so excited. Phoebe was just an exhilarating stage in the Ilium project, which itself was only the starting point in fulfilling his greater destiny. He was excited because of Joachim's phone call.

From the start of Ilium, Helmut had briefed Joachim discreetly on a related but separate project, and over the last month Joachim had not only worked with Bacci to master his NiL technology but had trawled through the professor's records and samples to find what Helmut sought. Two days ago he had called to say that today he would have something to show him. The prospect was so thrilling that Helmut had arrived early for his update meeting with Bacci and Max.

His younger son was waiting for him at the doors to the laboratory, hair neatly brushed, rimless glasses level on his nose, bright bow-tie showing above a white lab coat. 'Professor Bacci's out for lunch, Vati. He'll be back for our meeting at two so we've got at least an hour.' A pause. 'Do you want to wait for Max?'

'No. We'll keep this to ourselves for the time being.'

'As you wish.'

It was the first time Helmut had been into Bacci's laboratory, but he had no interest in the gleaming apparatus as he followed Joachim to the red door.

'This is the sample room. It's an Aladdin's cave.' Joachim opened the door and Helmut felt a blast of cooler air. The storeroom was lined with refrigerated, glass-fronted cabinets filled with vials. Each was clearly labelled 'NiL' with a hash sign, then a number. Below this was a small barcode. 'This room contains every iteration of the NiL drug.'

Helmut ran his fingers over the refrigerated glass cabinets, reading the labels. He tried to remember what number Bacci had said it was. Then his finger settled on NiL #042 and he turned to Joachim. 'Is this it?'

Joachim took a palmtop computer and an electronic wand from a ledge by the door, then extracted a vial from the cabinet. The palmtop beeped as he ran the wand over the barcode at the bottom of the label, and the screen changed. Joachim scanned the text and pissed Helmut the palmtop.

Helmut scrolled down the screen, ignoring the scientific jargon, and read the summary notes. Its effects were as Bacci had described, and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. 'This works? This is the one Bacci tried on himself?'