Kiss Heaven Goodbye Part 34

'About that ...' said Lucinda slowly. 'Kate's LA manager wanted to know who the designer of her premiere dress was going to be. When I said Rivera, he had a typical LA hissy fit.'

Sasha felt her pulse quicken.'I don't understand what the problem is,' she said.

'This is LA, Sasha. He wants his client in a named designer. Armani or Gaultier, something like that. Yes, I know it's narrow-minded and sn.o.bbish, but in Hollywood, management calls the shots.'

You double-crossing b.i.t.c.h, thought Sasha, but this was no time to let emotion get in the way. thought Sasha, but this was no time to let emotion get in the way.

'Lucinda,' she said coolly, 'I thought we had an agreement.'

'Darling, I've tried,' protested the publicist.

Sasha took a tiny sip of her iced water. She was livid, but she knew she had to tread carefully. This was still her best chance of saving the label and Lucinda was one enemy she could not afford to make even if she had just st.i.tched her up.

'So what are you going to do about it? We have' she glanced at her watch 'approximately twenty-two hours to salvage something from this.'

'I've been thinking about it,' said Lucinda. 'Maybe I could get Greg Nicholls' girlfriend to wear one of your dresses?'

Sasha put a hand over her eyes. A girlfriend? A girlfriend?

'Who is this girlfriend?' she sighed.

'Giselle Makin.'

'Never heard of her.'

'She's an actress and model, absolutely beautiful. And Greg is is the movie's leading man. She'll be very visible on the red carpet.' the movie's leading man. She'll be very visible on the red carpet.'

As if the tabloids would be interested in a n.o.body like her, thought Sasha. She looked across at Philip who was desperately making 'What the h.e.l.l's up?' gestures. But then she noticed something behind Phil. Propped up in the corner of the office was a roll of blush-pink silk georgette. And Sasha had a sudden flash of inspiration. thought Sasha. She looked across at Philip who was desperately making 'What the h.e.l.l's up?' gestures. But then she noticed something behind Phil. Propped up in the corner of the office was a roll of blush-pink silk georgette. And Sasha had a sudden flash of inspiration.

'Visible on the red carpet, you say?' she said, smiling.Sasha and Ben worked around the clock. At 3 a.m., when Ben started making irritable noises about needing to leave, Sasha took the only key they had to the studio door and flushed it down the toilet.

'We're not getting out of here until Philip lets us out at eight o'clock tomorrow morning,' she told him sternly. Sasha could sympathise, of course. It was impossible to make a bespoke dress to Ben's exacting standards in eighteen hours usually it took weeks so they were adapting an existing sample instead. Carefully Sasha unpicked a long satin-faced organza skirt from the old dress while Ben got to work constructing the bodice. It was Ben's design but Sasha's vision; she knew exactly what she wanted the dress to achieve.

By the time the birds starting singing in the street outside, the gown was taking shape, and at nine thirty, black rings under her eyes, Sasha took the dress directly to Giselle Makin's Notting Hill apartment where she met Lucinda. Sasha wasn't entirely surprised by Giselle's reaction the first time she tried the dress on; clinging to every generous curve of the actress' body, it left very little to the imagination.

'Oh G.o.d,' she said as she looked in the mirror, her eyes wide. 'Greg is going to kill me.'

'Greg won't be able to keep his eyes off you,' said Lucinda rea.s.suringly as Sasha made some adjustments with her stylist's pin box and sewing kit. Giselle did indeed look sensational. Her deep strawberry-blond hair looked like the most precious amber against the natural pink blush of the gown. Sasha just knew the media were going to go mad for her h.e.l.l, she was even going to have Hollywood knocking on her door after this red-carpet appearance. Lucinda was obviously thinking the same thing.

'She looks incredible,' she gushed. 'How can I thank you?'

'You can start by sorting out a couple of VIP tickets for the premiere,' she said. 'I need them biking around to Holland Park immediately.'

Lucinda looked puzzled. 'You and Phil have tickets, don't you?'

'Oh, they're not for us.' Sasha smiled. 'They're for another very very important guest.' The second stage of her plan was about to begin. important guest.' The second stage of her plan was about to begin.The two most sensational women on the red carpet at the By Midnight By Midnight premiere were wearing Rivera. One of them was the fas.h.i.+on company's CEO. Striding out confidently in her silver minidress, Sasha bathed in the blinding light of the paparazzi's flashbulbs, knowing this was the start of the media's serious interest in her. But it was Giselle who made the press erupt into a feeding frenzy. As she followed Greg out of their limousine, she kept a respectful two paces behind him, but not for long. The silk georgette corset of her dress, which in the car had looked merely a soft pink, appeared to turn completely transparent in the glare of the flashbulbs. The roar of the crowd in Leicester Square was deafening.'Giselle! Giselle! Over here!' they yelled, ignoring all the other stars walking up to the theatre. She played her part brilliantly, a half-smile on her face as she moved slowly along the red carpet, the wide graceful skirt of the dress billowing like a cloud of apple blossom, her semi-translucent corset revealing her dark brown nipples. It was an incredibly flattering dress, one that made Giselle look part saint, part sinner, a beautiful fallen angel caught between heaven and h.e.l.l. premiere were wearing Rivera. One of them was the fas.h.i.+on company's CEO. Striding out confidently in her silver minidress, Sasha bathed in the blinding light of the paparazzi's flashbulbs, knowing this was the start of the media's serious interest in her. But it was Giselle who made the press erupt into a feeding frenzy. As she followed Greg out of their limousine, she kept a respectful two paces behind him, but not for long. The silk georgette corset of her dress, which in the car had looked merely a soft pink, appeared to turn completely transparent in the glare of the flashbulbs. The roar of the crowd in Leicester Square was deafening.'Giselle! Giselle! Over here!' they yelled, ignoring all the other stars walking up to the theatre. She played her part brilliantly, a half-smile on her face as she moved slowly along the red carpet, the wide graceful skirt of the dress billowing like a cloud of apple blossom, her semi-translucent corset revealing her dark brown nipples. It was an incredibly flattering dress, one that made Giselle look part saint, part sinner, a beautiful fallen angel caught between heaven and h.e.l.l.

'I think we can call that a job well done,' whispered Philip, planting a warm kiss on the back of Sasha's neck.

'Not quite yet,' said Sasha, looking back down the carpet, her eyes searching for new arrivals. Then finally she spotted them: Robert and Connie Ashford hurrying past the photographers.

'What have you got up your pretty little sleeve this time, Sinclair?' Philip chuckled as he watched a satisfied smile spread across Sasha's face.

'We're going to expand into America,' she said simply, ignoring his confused expression.

'I know,' said Philip. 'We have meetings with Neiman Marcus and Saks in a week's time.'

'No, I mean really really take America. I want our own Rivera store on Fifth Avenue, Phil,' she said, turning into the cinema. take America. I want our own Rivera store on Fifth Avenue, Phil,' she said, turning into the cinema.

'But we can't afford-'

She cut him off. 'And I want it by this time next year.'The next morning, Giselle Makin was on the front of every major publication, although her erect nipples had been discreetly airbrushed into respectability. And from the Sun Sun's women's pages to the Telegraph Telegraph's fas.h.i.+on column, they were all asking if the designer of Giselle's dress, Rivera, was the New Dior. Not since Gianni Versace had sent the four supermodels down his 1990 Autumn/Winter runway had a designer made such a splash. It was better than Sasha had dared hope. Lucinda Clarke was calling her every five minutes with another request for an interview or a quote from the new fas.h.i.+on sensation, but Sasha had something else to do first. For a moment she let her hand rest on top of her battered old 1990 Filofax. Miles had given her Robert Ashford's direct line just before their holiday to Angel Cay that summer. It It's strictly for emergencies, Sash. Well, five years later, Sasha felt it was time to make the call. Not an emegency per se, but important enough.

'Robert. It's Sasha Sinclair.'

'Sasha, what a surprise,' he said, sounding genuinely pleased to hear from her. 'I believe we have you to thank for yesterday's impromptu night out.'

'I know you and Connie have always been so supportive of my career. I've never forgotten your words of wisdom and encouragement. '

'I believe I told you to go to university. Shows what I know.' He laughed.

She took a breath, then ploughed on. 'Listen, Robert, I have a proposal for you. It concerns my fas.h.i.+on company Rivera. If you've seen this morning's papers, you'll be aware of it.'

'Continue,' he said, his bonhomie immediately replaced by a businesslike tone.

'It's a win-win situation if you like,' she said, purring into the telephone. 'I want to expand the company into America, you always want to make more money and get a foothold in a new market. And Robert, here's how we're going to do it ...'

37

Alex s.h.i.+fted his hired Jeep into second gear as he turned into a tight hairpin bend. Ibiza is hot Ibiza is hot, he thought tapping the air-con. I wish I had a drink I wish I had a drink. The last seven days had been the first time in years he had been completely sober. Ironic really, considering this was one place where anything you wanted was freely available. He wound down the window and breathed in the air a wooded blend of pine trees, salt and dusty soil that seemed unique to the northern tip of the island. Two weeks ago, I wouldn Two weeks ago, I wouldn't have noticed any of that, he thought. It hadn't been any fun staying straight, that was for sure, but there were a few up sides, he supposed. Besides, he knew it was his only chance of survival. It had been ten days since Emma had left him and he had immediately gone on a huge bender; he could barely remember any of it, but he did know he had been found slumped in a cubicle in the toilets at the Groucho, blood and vomit caked on his torn s.h.i.+rt. His girlfriend's departure had left a huge gap inside him and it was far too tempting to keep pouring booze into that deep, deep hole. So he had caught a taxi straight to Heathrow and taken the first flight he could get it just happened to be going to Ibiza.

He ducked his head to squint at the expensive villas on his right. There it was Villa des Fleurs. He felt a s.h.i.+ver despite the heat. It was hard to believe that pure chance alone had brought him to this island. It couldn't just be random, could it? He turned into the driveway, then leant over to press the intercom buzzer next to the high steel gates. He felt a terrible flurry of nerves as the gates swung open and he caught sight of the rambling whitewashed villa and the pink bougainvillea climbing up to the teak shutters.

For a moment, he thought about throwing the Jeep into reverse and getting the h.e.l.l out of there. But someone or something wants me here, But someone or something wants me here, he reasoned. he reasoned. No point in fighting it, is there? No point in fighting it, is there? He parked the car and clambered out just as the villa's front door opened. He parked the car and clambered out just as the villa's front door opened.

'Hi, Grace.' He smiled. Her thick, dark-honey-coloured hair hung loose down her back, her fringe framing her deep blue eyes. She wore brown leather sandals, jeans and a white s.h.i.+rt in some flimsy fabric that looked a little see-through in the sun. He'd seen pictures of her in the broadsheets looking grown-up and intimidating in smart dresses and dark sungla.s.ses, just like the politician's wife she was. But this style suited her better; she looked like the old Grace.

'So are you going to invite me in or let me burn to a crisp out here?' he asked.

'I forgot.' She smiled. 'Musicians never see daylight, do they?'

Walking into the villa, he looked around the cool rustic s.p.a.ce while she poured him a gla.s.s of fresh lemonade.

'I can't believe you're here,' she said, shaking her head. Neither could he. When he'd arrived in Ibiza, he'd deliberately taken the most isolated hotel he could find, needing to sleep, detox and just hide away from the world, but by the third day he was feeling stir-crazy and, if he was honest, desperate for a drink. He'd headed into Ibiza town, gone into the first bar and ordered a frozen marguerita. While it was being mixed, he picked up a local magazine on the bar and read about a photography exhibition featuring the work of one 'Grace Hernandez', the politician's wife, who now lived on Ibiza's north coast. He left a thousand-peseta note on the counter and walked out of the bar without looking back.

Grace took the jug of lemonade outside into a shady courtyard where two children were riding around on bikes.

'Wow! Little Grace clones!' he laughed, looking at their thick blond hair and tanned skin. 'They're gorgeous, Grace. But then they would be.'

Grace led him to a shaded terrace where they sat down with their drinks.

'So, come on, Mr Rock Star, what brings you to Ibiza?' she asked. 'Some big gig at one of the clubs?'

Alex shook his head and looked away. 'Just getting a bit of s.p.a.ce,' he said with a shrug.

'Ah, the life of a celebrity,' said Grace.'I tasted a bit of it in Parador. I didn't like it much, I have to say.'

'But what about you?' said Alex. 'What's the new Evita doing in Ibiza?'

'Three afternoons a week I teach at the local school, which I'm loving. And then there's the photography which you know about.'

'No. I meant what brought you here.'

'Well, that's a bit more complicated. An a.s.sa.s.sination attempt, a failed marriage. Discomfort at being the "new Evita" as you put it. Take your pick.'

'And I always thought it was Miles who was surrounded by drama.' As they sipped their lemonade, Grace filled him in on the last few years. Her trip to Australia, meeting Gabriel, the wedding, the twins and her life in a gilded cage in Parador. Then the car bomb, Caro's death and Gabriel's subsequent election defeat. Listening to her problems, Alex felt the weight of his own lift a little. Yes, they had both been trapped and both been hurt, but at least no one was trying to kill him. Looking more closely, he could see the tired rings under Grace's eyes, the fact that she'd lost a lot of weight since the last photos he'd seen.

'I was in England when the old government was re-elected in Parador,' she was saying. 'We flew out here straight after the election. '

'Why Ibiza?'

Grace shrugged. 'I wanted somewhere quiet, safe and Spanish-speaking for the kids.'

'So you're really divorced?'

'Officially the marriage was annulled; the family have Catholic friends in high places. I like to think the Pope gave me a get-out-of-jail-free card,' she said, trying to smile, but Alex could see the sadness in her face. It was obviously hurting her more than she wanted to let on.

'Anyway, what about you?'

'You came to Ibiza to start a new life, I came here to escape my old one.'

'Women trouble?' Grace smiled.

'Everything trouble.'

Grace stood up. 'Ah, well that sounds like a long story,' she said. 'Shall I make some food? The kids haven't had a sleep today so they'll be in bed in an hour.'

'Cool. You whip us up something hot and Spanish and I'll play with Joe and Liv.'

'Hot and Spanish you say? You're not on tour now, you know.'

'Hey, I'm a good boy, you know,' said Alex. 'You ask your friend the Pope.'

And he ran off down the garden making monster noises to the delighted squeals of the children.What am I doing? thought Grace as she leant into the mirror to reapply her lipstick. thought Grace as she leant into the mirror to reapply her lipstick. He He's just an old friend, remember?

Before his unexpected phone call that morning, it had been a long time since she had thought about Alex Doyle. Not in a conscious way, at least. He'd appear as a faceless character in a bad dream or part of a vague sense of dread that she sometimes woke up with in the middle of the night. But she certainly hadn't been longing for him. No, for the first time in a long time, she was happy again. She loved the villa, she loved working at the San Josef Primaria, a small rural school just a few miles away from her hamlet, she loved running the photography club, buying camera equipment with her own money, which brought enormous pleasure to both herself and the pupils of the heavily underresourced school. And she was happy alone, just her and the kids. There was no room for anything or anyone else in her life.

So why are you putting lipstick on? she asked herself. Why didn Why didn't you make an excuse when he rang?

She went back into the kitchen. Outside she could see Alex chasing the shrieking kids with a leaky garden hose. Quickly she s.n.a.t.c.hed up her camera and shot off a roll of film of photographs, smiling as she thought what a natural Alex was with the kids. As the sun dipped in the sky, and the crickets came out with their brittle nighttime chorus, she put the children to bed with no trouble Uncle Alex had exhausted them.

While Grace put the finis.h.i.+ng touches to the food, Alex opened a bottle of wine and walked around the dining room looking at the black and white prints on the wall. 'These photos are fantastic, Grace,' he called. 'You should do it professionally.'

'Oh, it's just a hobby,' said Grace, poking her head around the door.'The exhibition's going to be fun, but I don't think David Bailey is going to be quaking in his boots.'

Alex helped her carry the food outside on to an old wrought-iron table on the terrace and they lit some oil lamps; the sky had turned purple behind a line of olive trees. Grace served up a chorizo stew with garlic polenta and a big bowl of salad br.i.m.m.i.n.g with ripe red tomatoes. As they ate, Alex slowly filled her in on his own life.

'So are you going back to Emma?' she said.

'I'm not sure she'll have me,' said Alex.'She says I drink too much.'

'Then stop.'

'I'm going to try,' he said with a half-smile.

'No, you have to be serious, Alex,' she said. 'Join AA, go on a retreat, show her that you mean business. And we'll start by taking this away,' she said, reaching over and moving the second bottle of Rioja out of his reach.

'Grace, please.'

'No, Alex, I think Emma's right. You're a talented musician; you keep this up, you'll throw it all away.'

He pulled a face. 'Might be a bit too late for that. The songs have dried up and now Jez wants me out of the band.'

'So leave.'

'And do what?'

'Start a new band. Or go solo. What is so difficult?'

'I'm in a pretty successful band, Grace,' he said. 'I like playing at Glas...o...b..ry. Being Big in j.a.pan. '

'Ah, so the best reason you can think of not to do it is because you're comfortable?'

'I don't know if I can can do it,' he said quietly. Grace's heart jumped as she realised there were tears in his eyes. She had been sitting here being a cheerleader, saying 'Come on Alex, you can do it!' without realising how defeated and broken he really was. do it,' he said quietly. Grace's heart jumped as she realised there were tears in his eyes. She had been sitting here being a cheerleader, saying 'Come on Alex, you can do it!' without realising how defeated and broken he really was.

'You are too brilliant to hide all that talent,' she said. 'And you are too b.l.o.o.d.y gorgeous not to be out there centre stage.' She blushed as she said it, but she had to do something to help him crawl out of the hole he had fallen into. That was what friends did, wasn't it?

'I know it's hard,' she said softly, 'but you have to try. Because I think that what you're doing, making music that touches people, makes them happy and sad, I think that's more important than any of your problems with Jez or Emma.'

Alex looked touched. 'I will,' he said.

Their eyes met and Grace felt a crackle of electricity between them, like the old spark, leaping across the s.p.a.ce between them.