Cathy Williams - 8 Magnificent Millionaires

‘It’s all very beautiful,’ Zoë said, when they were inside.

He watched her trail her fingers lightly over the creamy soft furnishings as they walked through the main reception room. Everything looked better to him too now she was here. He could see how well the cream walls looked, with smoky blue highlights provided by cushions and rugs, and the occasional touch of tobacco-brown. The walls had been left plain to show off his modern art collection.

‘Chagall?’ She turned to him in amazement.

He felt ashamed that he took such things for granted. Not for him the colourful poster prints that had adorned his mother’s home and made it so cheerful. He liked the real thing, and he could afford it now—Hockney and Chagall were just two of his favourites. He envied the expression on Zoë’s face. He wanted to recapture that feeling. He wanted to remember how it had felt to attend his first fine art auction sale, where he had vowed one day he would be bidding.

Zoë turned back to the picture again. She had never seen anything like it outside a museum. The picture showed a handsome man embracing a woman with long titian hair. They were both suspended in an azure sky, with the head of a good-natured horse sketched into the background. A happy sun shone out of the canvas, turning the land beneath it to gold.

‘It’s genuine, isn’t it? This isn’t a print?’

‘That’s right.’ He felt shame again. Such things were meant to be shared. When was the last time he had brought anyone into his home?

‘I saw a Chagall in Las Vegas—a man and woman, head to head—’ Zoë stopped talking, realising they were standing head to head too, and that Rico was smiling down at her.

‘You know what I mean.’ She waved her hand and moved away, going to stand by an open window. ‘Rico, why am I here?’ she said, still with her back turned to him.

‘I know everything about you.’

‘Oh, do you?’ she said, managing to sound as unconcerned as if they had been discussing a new style of drapes.

‘Zoë, please, can’t we talk about it?’

‘Why should we? What purpose would it serve?’ She turned round to stare at him.

‘Will you come with me?’ he said.

Something in his expression made her walk towards him.

This must be his study, Zoë realised. It was a pleasant, airy room, but small on the scale of other rooms in the mansion. It was cosy, even a little cluttered. This was the hub around which the rest of his life revolved, she guessed.

‘Please sit down,’ he said, holding out a chair for her across from his own at the desk.

‘I’d rather stand.’

‘Please.’

She didn’t want to make a fuss.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Rico said, sitting across from her.

‘Tell you what?’

‘That all that nonsense in the newspaper was a pack of lies?’

‘Because I don’t feel the need to defend myself.’

‘Nor should you.’

Glancing down at the desk, Zoë realised that all the papers she had thought were Rico’s were, in fact, her own history in print. ‘So now you know.’

‘I only wish I’d known about it sooner. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because it’s none of your business. And because I don’t want, or need, anyone’s misplaced sympathy.’

‘Misplaced?’ Rico sprang to his feet and planted his fists on the desk, leaning so far over it their faces were almost touching. ‘A man who is supposed to love you beats you up, and you call my sympathy misplaced? You build a whole new life for yourself, and a successful career, only to have that—that—’ Rico stopped, the words jamming in his brain as he searched for something to properly describe what he thought of Zoë’s ex-husband.

‘I finally left him when he tried to sell me to someone he owed money to.’

All the emotion was gone from her voice. He wanted her to rail against her fate, to show some emotion.

‘It was just a night of sex, to pay off the debt…’

‘Just! Zoë, Zoë—’ Rico passed his hand across his eyes, as if it would help him to make some sense of what she was telling him. Walking around the desk, he drew her to her feet. ‘Come with me.’ He took her to the open window. ‘Look out there. Tell me what you see.’

‘It’s night-time—’

‘It’s nature, Zoë—pure, harsh, and lovely. Here at my beach house, and at the castle in Cazulas, I escape from the world when I need to. That’s why I was so protective of my privacy when you arrived. Why I still am so protective—but now I want you to have the same. I don’t want you to live with a nightmare stuck in the back of your mind. I can’t bear to think of you trapped like that, in the past.’

Wrapping her arms around her waist, Zoë inhaled deeply, and then turned away from the window to face him. ‘I got away, in case you’re interested. I could see the man’s heart wasn’t in it. False bravado brought him to me after a few drinks with my ex-husband. I just explained it was a bad time for me—that there had to be some mistake. He didn’t lose face. There was no unpleasantness. I think I handled it well.’

Handled it well? The words tumbled around Rico’s head as if someone was knocking them in with a hammer. He wanted to drag her into his arms right then, tell her it would be all right from now on, that he would be there for her, to protect her from harm. He wanted to promise her that she would never have to face such a monstrous situation in her life again—but she was already walking towards the door.

‘Will you take me back to the castle now?’

‘I’ll do anything you want me to.’

She smiled faintly at him, as if to acknowledge his understanding without necessarily accepting that it helped or changed anything for her.

The call came when Zoë had just climbed into bed, and for the second time that night she rushed to pull on her jeans. This time she tugged a sweater over the top of her tee shirt. She didn’t know how long she would be, or what might be involved. She just knew she had to be prepared. A phone call from Maria in hospital was serious. Snatching up her bag and some money, along with her car keys, she hurried downstairs.

Zoë felt as if there was a tight band around her chest until the moment she reached the small private room and saw Maria sitting up in a chair beside the bed with a rug over her knees. ‘Thank God you’re all right,’ she said, crouching down at her side. ‘Is it serious?’ She reached for Maria’s hand. ‘I’ve been so worried about you. Will it affect your dancing?’

Maria lifted her other arm from beneath the blanket, revealing strapping. ‘Thankfully just a sprain—nothing more. The X-rays have confirmed it. I’m sorry if I frightened you, Zoë. I just couldn’t stand the thought of being here all night, and I have such a thing about taxis—’

‘No. You were absolutely right to call me. I’m so relieved. I don’t know why, but I thought you might have injured your leg.’

‘My fault. I should have explained, instead of just saying I had fallen. I can see now that my legs would be the first thing you thought of.’

‘Has anyone told Rico? If he hears you are in hospital he’ll be very worried.’

‘I tried him first,’ Maria told her. ‘But he wasn’t at home.’

No, he was taking me home, Zoë thought, feeling doubly guilty knowing Maria had probably rung Rico to take her to the hospital. And she had been so lost in her own thoughts on the way back to the castle she hadn’t spoken a word to him.

‘The main thing is that no permanent harm has been done,’ Zoë said, returning to practical matters. ‘Can you leave now, or must we wait for a doctor?’

‘The doctor has to formally discharge me before he goes off duty for the night. But we can talk until then.’ Maria stopped and viewed Zoë with concern. ‘You look exhausted, Zoë, is something wrong?’