Danielle Steel - Malice

But three days after the picture came out, the wire services got a call. It was from a man in New York, he ran a photo lab, and Marcus Anders had burned him for a lot of money. Anders had made half a million bucks thanks to him, and he'd put it all up his nose and cheated the man who was calling. And besides, the lab man knew there was something rotten about what Anders was doing. At first, it had seemed all right, but then the photographs had just kept on coming. They had beaten her to death, and then the poor guy quit. It wasn't right, for a lot of reasons. So he blew the whistle.

His name was Jose Cervantes, and he was the best trick man in New York, probably in the business. He did beautiful retouching for respectable photographers, and some funny stuff when he was paid enough by guys like Marcus Anders. He could take Margaret Thatcher's head and put her on Arnold Schwarzenegger's body. All he needed was one single tiny seam, and you had it. Presto! Magic! All he'd needed for Grace's photos, he explained, was the tiny black ribbon he'd added at her neck and he could join her head to any body. He had chosen some really luscious ones, in some fairly exotic positions, but at first Marcus had told him it was for fun. It was only when he'd seen them printed in Thrill that he really knew what the photographer was doing. He could have come forward then, but he didn't want to get involved. He could have been charged with fraud, but there was nothing illegal about tricking photographs. It was done constantly for ads, for jokes, for greeting cards, for layouts. It was only when you did what Marcus had done that it became illegal. Therein lay the malicious intent, the actual malice everyone looked for and never found. But they had it this time.

Marcus Anders had set out to ruin her. He had had nothing to do with exposing her prison record, he hadn't even known about it, and he had forgotten his pictures of her completely. But once he saw the pieces on her in Thrill , about killing her father and going to jail, he unearthed his old pictures of her and set Jose working on them. Jose hadn't even recognized her till he read the first article in Thrill , and realized what Marcus was doing. But Marcus had all his work by then. And they were entirely faked. The original photographs were as she had remembered them, in Marcus's white shirt, many of them even in blue jeans. What had worked so well for their purposes was the expression on her face, as she lay back against the fur, drugged and only semiconscious. It made her look as though she were having sex at the time they were taken.

The story made a lot of news, and Thrill was wide-open for a major lawsuit. Mr. Goldsmith, the attorney, was delighted, and charges of fraud and malicious mischief were brought against Marcus, but he had disappeared by then, and word was he'd gone to Europe.

Marcus and Thrill had done it for fun, and for profit, and just to prove they could, each one not really caring, not taking responsibility, the artist, the photographer, the forger, the editor, and in the end, the Mac-kenzies were the victims.

But they all looked whole in body and soul again, as they packed their house in Washington, and went to spend Christmas in Connecticut. And then they went back to close the house on R Street. It had sold immediately to a brand-new congressman from Alabama.

“Will you miss Washington?” Grace asked, as they lay in bed on their last night in the house in Georgetown. He wasn't sure if she was sorry to leave or not. In some ways, she wasn't. In others she would miss it. She worried that Charles would always feel that he had left unfinished business. But he said he wouldn't. He had accomplished a lot in Congress in six years, and learned innumerable important lessons. The most important one he'd learned was that his family meant a lot more to him than his job. He knew he had made the right decision. They'd been through enough pain to last a lifetime. It had made the children stronger too, and brought them all closer together.

He had had other offers too, from corporations in the private sector, an important foundation or two, and of course they wanted him back at the law firm, but he hadn't made up his mind yet. And they were going to do exactly what he'd said. They were going to spend six or eight months in Europe. They were going to Switzerland, France, and England. He had already made arrangements with two schools while they were there, in Geneva and Paris. And Kisses was going to stay with friends in Greenwich until they came home for the summer. He'd have made his mind up by then about their future. And maybe, if she was up to it, Grace might have another baby. And if not, they were happy as they were. For Charles, all the doors were open.

The next day Grace was already in the car with the kids when the phone rang. Charles was making a last check of the house to make sure they hadn't left anything behind, but he had only found Matt's football, and a pair of old sneakers under the back porch, otherwise everything was gone. The house was empty.

The call was from the Department of State, from a man Charles knew only vaguely. Charles knew he was close to the President, but he had had few dealings with him, and he knew mainly that he was a good friend of Roger Marshall's.

“The President would like to see you sometime today, if you have time,” he said, and Charles smiled and shook his head. It never failed. Maybe he just wanted to say goodbye and thank him for a job well done, but it seemed less than likely.

“We were just about to drive to Connecticut. We're out of here. The kids are already in the car.”

“Would you all like to come over for a few minutes? I'm sure we could find something for them to do. He has fifteen minutes at ten forty-five, if that suits you.” Charles wanted to say “Why?” but he knew that wasn't done, and he didn't want to slam any doors behind him, surely not the one to the Oval Office.

“I suppose we could do that, if you can stand three noisy kids and a dog.”

“I've got five,” he laughed, “and a pig my wife bought me for Christmas.”

“We'll be right over.”

The kids were vastly impressed that they were stopping off at the White House to say goodbye.

“I'll bet he doesn't do that for everyone,” Matt said proudly, wishing he could tell someone.

“What's that all about?” Grace asked, as he drove the station wagon to Pennsylvania Avenue.

Theirs was the least distinguished vehicle to drive up to the White House in quite a while, he was sure, and he had told Grace honestly that he had absolutely no idea what they wanted.

“They want you to run for president in four years,” she grinned at him. “Tell him you don't have time.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He laughed at her as he left them in the car, and an aide came to invite them inside. They were going to give the kids a mini-tour, and a young Marine volunteered to walk Kisses. There was a nice friendly atmosphere that was typical of the current administration. They liked kids and dogs and people. And Charles.

In the Oval Office, the President told Charles that he was sorry he had withdrawn from the Senate race, but he understood it. There were times when one had to make decisions for one's own life, and not the country. And Charles told him that he appreciated the support, but would miss Washington, and hoped they'd meet again.

“I was hoping that too.” The President smiled at him, and asked him what his plans were, and Charles told him. They were leaving for Switzerland that week, for two weeks of skiing.

“How do you feel about France?” the President inquired conversationally, and Charles explained that they were going to Normandy and Brittany, and they had made arrangements to put the kids in school in Paris. “When do you plan to arrive?” He was looking pensive.