Kiss Heaven Goodbye Part 31

'I have to ask you something, Gabe,' she said suddenly. 'Have you been dealing with the cartels?'

He shrugged, his eyes still on the floor. 'You know I've met them.'

'Yes, but what I'm asking is did you accept money from them?'

His cheeks flushed. 'What? Of course not!'

'Don't lie to me, Gabe,' she said, her voice wavering. 'They didn't plant a bomb in our car for no reason.'

'Don't be ridiculous!' cried Gabriel. 'They put it there to destabilise our campaign. The bomb was meant for me me.'

Should she believe him? His cheeks were pink and his eyes wide, but all powerful men lied, they had had to. She had heard enough of the glib half-truths coming from her father's tongue to know that much. to. She had heard enough of the glib half-truths coming from her father's tongue to know that much.

'A journalist at the Palumbo press conference told me you'd been accepting contributions to your campaign from the Andres brothers.'

'That's a complete lie,' he spat. 'Did you believe him? Did you really think I would stoop so low?'

'I didn't believe her, Gabe. Not once did I doubt you, which is why I never brought it up. But now ... now Caro is dead.'

Tears were rolling down her cheeks now. The shame and guilt of Caro's death when the car bomb had been meant for them was almost too much to bear. Could she have acted when the journalist had told her about Gabe's corruption? Could she have saved Caro?

'You asked me once if I'd ever done anything bad,' she said, struggling to get her words out. 'I found a body on my father's island, the body of one of his staff. And I did nothing, I turned a blind eye and there was never any justice for the person who had killed him. I'm not going to let that happen again.'

'So what do you intend to do?' said Gabriel angrily. 'Expose your husband as a corrupt politician, tell the world I took bribes from the drug lords? Do you really think that will bring Caro back?'

'Did you take money, Gabe?' she insisted. 'Answer me!'

'No,' he said, looking away from her, across the river.

'Oh my G.o.d,' she gasped, her eyes wide. 'You did, you took a kickback.'

'Yes!' he yelled. 'If you really must know, I did take money, but not from those animals the Andres brothers, or from any of the cartels.'

'So who did you take it from?'

Gabriel glanced at her. 'The Americans,' he said simply. 'When I went to Was.h.i.+ngton at New Year, it was to discuss a military counter-narcotics programme.'

'So why didn't you tell me?'

'Because I was ashamed!'

'But you did it for the right reasons,' said Grace.

'Yes, Grace, but there's always a price to pay, isn't there?'

'Caro, you mean?'

'Not Caro,' he said dismissively. 'The debt we will owe the Americans. Don't you understand, Grace? I have sold my country to a superpower. Yes, they want to stop the spread of drugs, but they're far more interested in having countries like us in their debt, jumping to their tune.'

It was only at that moment that Grace could see how far her husband had got away from her, how little there was left of the man she had married. He had started with ideals, a pa.s.sion and a duty, but now he couldn't even see that someone dying in his place was tragic. He couldn't see that his plan to free Parador had almost got him and his children killed.

'Do you really want to win this election so much?'

'Of course I do,' he replied incredulously.

'I'm not sure I do, Gabe. I want to help people, and I've come to love the people of your country. But do I want to change the world? In Parador at least, that price feels too high. I'm twenty-four years old, Gabe. We have a family. I just want us to be happy. Safe.'

He shook his head. 'We've come too far to turn back now,' he said.

'No, Gabe,' she said, clutching his arm. 'We haven't, we can always change. If you don't win this election, you can return to your books. You can still lobby the West to help your country, but sometimes you can be more effective outside politics than inside.'

'If I don't win, Grace,' he said firmly, 'then I'm going to try again. The next elections are only in four years' time. And there'll be risks again. You know that.'

'But look how big the risk is, Gabe! Caro is dead dead! What good will it do if you die too? Or me? Or the twins? You can't help people if you're dead.'

She felt a deep, unsettling selfishness saying it, but it was the truth, and it was also a relief to say out loud what she had been feeling for months, perhaps years.

'Are you sure this is what you want? Do you want to live like this, always looking over your shoulder?'

'I want to be president president, Grace,' he said, his eyes blazing. 'It's my destiny.'

She took a long, hard look at Gabriel's face. She didn't see sadness, guilt or anger at what had just happened. All she saw was desire. Somewhere along the line, the quest for change had become the need for power. And power, she knew, was a drug too hard to kick. Deep down, she knew her marriage was over.

'Grace!' cried Gabriel as he watched her walk away. 'Come back, G.o.dd.a.m.n it!'

But she kept walking. She closed her eyes and let the summer breeze wash over her, knowing exactly what she needed to do.

Gabriel ran up and caught her arm. 'Where are you going?' he said irritably.

'I'm leaving Parador.'

'That's ... that's insane!' stuttered Gabriel. 'How is that going to look to the electorate, my wife abandoning me?'

'I don't care how it looks, Gabe,' she cried. 'I want our kids to be safe.'

'They are are safe!' safe!'

'Clearly not.'

'I thought you wanted to make a difference, Grace,' he mocked.

She shrugged.'What is more important to you, Gabe? Your family or your ambitions?'

'I want to save my country,' he said, puffing his chest out.

'No, Gabriel, you want to be president president. There is a huge difference. '

She stormed up the path back to the lodge. Still shaking with anger, she dried her face and took a few moments to compose herself before she went back into the suite. Isabella was in a chair by the open window reading a book, the twins still asleep. Grace wondered how much her mother-in-law had seen or heard.

'So, my dear,' said Isabella, putting a bookmark between the pages. 'I suppose you'll be leaving us.'

Grace looked across at her sharply. 'Did you hear?'

'No,' she said softly. 'But I know what I'd be thinking, as a wife and a mother. If I were you, Grace, I would leave Parador.'

Grace gaped at her and Isabella chuckled softly. 'Don't look so shocked. I've made many sacrifices for my country. I've lost a husband and a son. You think you can fix things with good ideas and principles and pa.s.sion, but sadly, I've come to realise that that just isn't the case.'

'I do want him to win, Isabella, I do, but I can't live like this.' The older woman nodded. 'Go,' she said simply. 'I don't want to lose anyone else. Nothing is worth that, believe me.'

Grace felt the tears come again. This was the last person she had expected kindness from.

Isabella walked over and gently lifted her chin. 'Look after my grandchildren for me.'

'But I thought ...'

'You thought I would hate you? No, Grace, I am proud of you. Proud of what you have achieved in Parador, proud of the woman you have grown into. And now I am proud that you are doing the right thing. I only wish that I had had your strength when I was your age.'

Grace could barely move her mouth to speak. Isabella nodded towards the door, where Grace could see her suitcase standing.

'I've packed all your things,' she said. 'Now gather your children; your car is waiting downstairs. There's a jet at Christchurch airport which will take you wherever you want to go.'

Grace pulled Isabella into a smothering hug. It was only then that she realised this was the first time she had ever embraced her mother-in-law. 'Thank you, Isabella,' she said simply.

'You're very welcome, my dear,' said Isabella, straightening herself back up to her usual elegant posture.

Quickly Grace scooped the unstirring twins up and walked to the door as Isabella gave them a final goodbye kiss.

'You will look after Gabe, won't you?' she asked, tears in her eyes.

'Of course, he will be fine.' Isabella opened the door and Grace stepped through. 'And Grace?' she said. 'You'll be fine too.'

I only hope you're right, thought Grace, biting on her lip to stop herself from sobbing. I only hope you're right I only hope you're right.

34

March 1994

Sasha had never spent more time preparing for a meeting; she would hardly have taken more care over her appearance if it had been Oscar night. She had tried on everything in her wardrobe, rejected the lot, then trawled Bond Street before deciding that her favourite Ben Rivera day dress was by far the most flattering and, of course, appropriate. As she was shown up to the office, she felt pretty good. She was tall and slender thanks to four-inch heels and a week on a drastic Ryvita diet and her blond hair was long and glossy thanks to a three-hundred-pound cut and colour at Neville. Of course, she would have perferred to be coming here with a successful career to boast about at the very least, an eight-carat engagement ring. But then this wasn't a social call. She had only come because she had to.

'h.e.l.lo, Miles,' she said, walking into the Globe Club office, swaying her hips. The years had been kind to Miles Ashford, she thought, taking a seat opposite him. In a sharply tailored navy suit, accessorised by just a tan, her ex-boyfriend had transformed from an attractive yet gangly youth into a handsome twenty-three-year-old man oozing confidence and polish.

I'd be oozing confidence if I owned the Globe, thought Sasha begrudgingly. The Covent Garden club was unquestionably the hippest, most elite place in town. On the way up to Miles' top-floor office, she'd seen two actors, a rock band and a group of writers in intense discussion over cappuccinos. London was gathering a buzz as the place to be not since the sixties, when Mary Quant, Shrimpton, Bailey and the Stones had helped make it a global mecca for all things cool had the capital had such a feeling of possibility and excitement. And right now, the Globe Club was at the epicentre of it all; the place to be seen. thought Sasha begrudgingly. The Covent Garden club was unquestionably the hippest, most elite place in town. On the way up to Miles' top-floor office, she'd seen two actors, a rock band and a group of writers in intense discussion over cappuccinos. London was gathering a buzz as the place to be not since the sixties, when Mary Quant, Shrimpton, Bailey and the Stones had helped make it a global mecca for all things cool had the capital had such a feeling of possibility and excitement. And right now, the Globe Club was at the epicentre of it all; the place to be seen.

'Tea?' asked Miles, reclining in his Eames chair and buzzing his secretary. Sasha bristled at being treated like any other corporate guest, but then again, any hopes of a private, intimate tete-a-tete had been dashed when he had suggested meeting at his office.

'Only tea?' She smiled. 'In the old days it would have been a cheeky lunchtime martini.'

'I don't drink on duty, Sasha. In fact, I rarely drink at all these days.'

'Things have changed,' she said, genuinely surprised.

A beautiful girl dressed in tight black cigarette pants came in and placed a tray of tea on the leather-topped table. Miles barely took his eyes off the girl while she was in the room, a gesture Sasha felt sure was for her benefit.

'So how are you?'

'Fine.' She smiled. 'Congratulations on your wedding, by the way. What does your wife do again?'

Miles' mouth tightened into a line. 'Chrissy is a partner in the business with me.'

'Yes, I heard she was a hostess. That must be useful with a place like the Globe Club.'

They looked at each other, two fighting dogs circling, neither willing to back down.

Miles put a dainty cup in front of Sasha, rattling it in the saucer. 'What do you want, Sash?'

'I have a very exciting business opportunity for you.'

Miles gave a small laugh. 'You mean you want to borrow some money.'

Sasha had always known this wasn't going to be easy, but she was determined not to wither under his mocking gaze.

'You're twenty-three years old, Sasha. What do you know about business?'

'I could say the same about you.' She smiled sweetly. 'But here you are, on top of the world.'

'I found my calling,' said Miles grandly.

'Well it's the same with me,' she replied. 'The aim of my business is to help make women look fabulous. And I was always top-notch at looking good, wasn't I?'

Miles just shrugged non-committally and suddenly Sasha hated him. Miles Ashford with his family money and Oxbridge att.i.tude. Without his trust funds he'd be nothing, and yet here he was, lording it over her like some ancient king. If she and his other friends hadn't kept quiet ... She took a breath. She was here for a reason, not to dredge up the past.

'I am working with a couturier called Ben Rivera,' she said, trying to maintain a businesslike tone. 'It's a small operation making red-carpet gowns; he's as good as Lagerfeld or Lacroix, better even. The trouble is his outfit has little commercial backing, and as yet, it's not geared up for any mainstream production or distribution.'

Miles curled a lip. 'And I am interested in Ben Rivera because ... ?'

She had to be honest with him. This office was the Last Chance Saloon. She had spent the last eighteen months walking a commercial tightrope; she needed wealthy investors, but she knew that looking for money on her rich social circuit might alert people to Ben's potential. Already word was getting round the industry that he was a name to watch out for, especially since he had made a gown for Princess Diana. So Sasha had encouraged him to stay small, working on spectacular bespoke pieces while she tried to find someone to give her the money to steal the business out from under him.

'You should be interested because everyone is interested in fas.h.i.+on now; everyone wants to buy into a slice of designer living. Image is everything, Miles. You've bought into that yourself with the Globe. But in the next ten years the top fas.h.i.+on houses will become billion-dollar brands with infinite brand extension opportunities. Here's the business plan,' she said, putting a slim folder in front of him. 'That will show you how I'm going to do it.'

Miles sighed, flipping through the folder without interest. 'And how much are you looking for?'