Jilly Cooper - Bella

‘This is not a court of law,’ said Roger Field, firmly. ‘So will you stop pestering Bella with irrelevant questions.’

But throughout the press conference, journalist after journalist harked back to the question of her and Lazlo, until suddenly she lost her temper.

‘Will you stop hounding me,’ she screamed. ‘There is absolutely nothing between Lazlo Henriques and me, and I’m not answering any more of your bloody questions.’

It took all Roger Field’s tact to calm everyone down.

‘In considerable distress,’ wrote down the journalists in their shorthand notebooks, as a minute later Bella suddenly stood up, burst into tears and fled out of the room.

‘I can’t stand any more,’ she sobbed to Roger.

‘You won’t have to,’ said Roger.

Five minutes later she and Roger were smuggled out of a side door and into a waiting police car.

‘Where are we going?’ said Bella.

‘To a bolt hole of Lazlo’s in Maida Vale,’ said Roger. ‘He’s been hiding out there since you and Chrissie were kidnapped. Too many people, including the Press, know the address of his own flat.’

They were welcomed at the flat by Roger’s wife, Sabina. She was a tall, slim brunette and her beauty in the flesh and in the photograph on Roger’s desk at the theatre had blighted the hopes of many a young actress who would otherwise have set her cap at Roger. She gathered Bella into a voluptuous scented hug.

‘Welcome home, darling. This flat has to be seen to be believed. I’m sure it’s where Lazlo keeps his first eleven mistresses, all that peach-coloured satin and mirrors in the bedroom.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Roger sharply. ‘Lazlo bought it as a base for visiting clients. It merely happens to be empty at the moment because no-one’s over here. The Arabs go wild about that bedroom.’

‘Business must be disintegrating,’ said Sabina. ‘He hasn’t been near the office for days. A huge pile of mail arrived this morning that hadn’t been opened since before you were kidnapped. I’ve put it all in his bedroom. I’ve put you in there, too, Bella, so you can lie in bed all night and admire your reflection against peach-coloured satin, in the mirror on the ceiling,’ she added, carrying Bella’s suitcase into the room on the right. Several of Lazlo’s sweaters lay on an armchair and on the dressing table were jumbled together cuff-links, nail scissors, bottles of aftershave, ivory hair brushes, ties, cheque books, a wallet, several race cards, a fountain pen, a huge stack of mail and a pile of five pound notes.

Bella sniffed one of the bottles of aftershave — it had strong overtones of lavender and musk, and immediately conjured up the old smooth, opulent, mocking, self-assured Lazlo she knew before the kidnapping, not the pale, trembling, shattered man who’d greeted her on her escape.

It was almost as though Sabina read her thoughts.

‘I don’t know how Lazlo survived the last ten days,’ she said. ‘He never went to bed, working flat out trying to trace you — and not getting a lead from anyone. Just those damn telephone calls at twenty-four hour intervals, getting more and more threatening. Then those absurd tapes they sent to prove that you were still alive, that might have been made any time.’

She took off the fur counterpane from the bed and began folding it up.

‘Then your hair arrived through the post. That was the last straw. He was convinced you were both dead. He completely broke down. It’s always much worse when someone you never think will, does. Roger thought he was finished. Then, just as he was trying to cheer him up, the telephone rang and it was Diego. After that he was all right.’

Bella felt herself going scarlet. More than anything in the world she wanted to ask Sabina what Lazlo felt about her — but she was too frightened of getting a negative answer.

‘I wish he’d ring,’ she said for the hundredth time.

‘Oh, he’ll be all right,’ said Sabina. ‘He’s a cat with ninety-nine lives. I’ll leave you to get yourself sorted out. I’m going to cook supper. Come and have a drink when you’re ready.’

After she’d gone, Bella looked at herself in the mirror. God, she hated her hair. She wondered if it would be worth getting a wig. She sniffed the aftershave again and felt a sudden spasm of lust and longing. Then, with a beating heart, she started to leaf through the unopened mail. Halfway down she found what she was dreading — a letter from France in a blue airmail envelope with the address written in violet ink in a flowing, expansive hand.

The name on the back was, of course, Angora’s. Trust the silly bitch to use violet ink. Bella was itching to open it. It was dated nine days ago, so, probably, Angora didn’t even know of the kidnapping when she’d written it. Firmly, Bella put it at the bottom of the pile. Then she changed into a green and black dress. It was in the style of a cheongsam with a high neck — and a slit skirt.

‘That’s more like the old Bella,’ said Roger appreciatively when she went into the drawing room.

‘I feel very un-Gaysha,’ she said, ‘and what the hell am I going to do about my bloody hair?’

‘I rather like it,’ said Roger. ‘It brings out the latent fag in me. I’ve decided the next thing you’re going to do is Viola.’

‘“She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, feed on her damask cheek”,’ quoted Bella. ‘Sounds just like me.’

After dinner, at about ten o’clock when, for the first time that evening, Bella was not wondering when Lazlo was going to ring, the telephone rang. Roger answered. Suddenly his face relaxed into a smile.

‘You’re OK. Great, well done. Well, that’s for the best under the circumstances. He won’t bother anyone any more. Do you want to talk to Bella?’ He handed her the receiver. ‘It’s Lazlo.’

Her heart was cracking her ribs, her throat was so dry she could hardly speak.

‘Oh thank God, you’re not hurt.’

‘Not a scratch. Everything’s sorted out this end.’

‘Oh I’m so glad. What about Juan?’

‘He’s dead. He tried to shoot his way out and wounded a policeman, so they let him have it.’

‘God, how horrible!’

‘It wasn’t very nice. But at least now he’s dead a lot of people in Buenos Aires will have their first decent night’s sleep in years.

‘Look, I can’t talk very long, I’m catching a plane in a few minutes.’

‘What time do you get into Heathrow?’

‘About ten-thirty tomorrow, flight B.725.’

‘Shall I meet you?’ (Oh God! She could have bitten her tongue off. He probably had half London meeting him, and there she was, forcing herself on him.)

But he merely said, ‘Yes, please, and could you ask Roger to ring Diego and say I’m bringing his wife and the child with me, so they had better have an ambulance waiting at the airport.’

‘Oh that’s sensational,’ cried Bella. ‘He’ll be so pleased. Have a quick word with Roger. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

She handed the receiver back to Roger and went into the bedroom and sat down on the bed, burying her burning face in her hands. Oh I love him, I love him, she said to herself. I’ll never be able to live through the next twelve hours. In a dream she started wondering what to wear to the airport. Perhaps Sabina would lend her a big hat, but then the brim would get in the way when Lazlo kissed her. Stop it, she said to herself, you’re counting your chickens before they’re even laid.

Roger came into the bedroom.

‘Well, that’s nice isn’t it?’ he said, grinning. ‘Good old Lazlo. Rosie Hassell’s in a play on ITV in a minute. Do you want to come and watch her?’

‘I’m just going to wash my hair first,’ said Bella.