Shadow Game: Thriller & Mystery Novel

By Lila L. Flood

Four of David Bellino's childhood pals, his lovely lover Laura, and the head of an American corporate empire all reunite after years apart thanks to an invitation to New Year's Eve 1990. But nobody wants to take a vacation. They've come to settle scores with David since his ambition and ruthless greed destroyed their plans forever. But before the heated debate even starts, David is found dead in his study. Six life pictures—six destinies—that were connected—and destroyed—by the need for love and friendship emerge during hour-long interrogations, emotional dialogues with one another, and out of tormented recollections.
By tying together the Second World War Berlin, a posh English boarding school, the gutters and affluent neighborhoods of New York and London, as well as the romantic lanes of Vienna, Lila L. Flood creates a web of tragic, passionate, and frightful connections. She depicts the emotions that underlie our behaviors with sensitivity and acute instinct. This is how she was able to create a gripping contemporary book that not only exposes a crime but also its hidden causes.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jensen Cox
• Release date: Aug 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215517727

Book preview

I

A book

New York, November 1989

Although David had taken a sleeping pill as he did every night, he woke up at three in the morning and tossed and turned restlessly. Eventually Laura woke up too.

What is it? Can't sleep again?

No. But don't worry about me. I'm going over to my study.

You should see a doctor, David. There's hardly a night that you sleep through!

I was at the doctor. He prescribed these pills for me, but they don't really help. I probably need something stronger. But don't worry. He pushed back the covers and stood up. He couldn't see Laura's face in the dark, so he didn't see her hostility.

I'm sure I'm not worried, she thought.

He went into his study, Andreas' former study, which he had completely redecorated after his death almost a year ago. Only the desk by the window remained. On it was a framed photograph of Andreas.

David sat down. He was tired and he was cold. The pills, which he was now swallowing in large quantities, had a strange effect on him; They made him sleepy, but they didn't take away his restlessness, he could have slept for a hundred years, but at the same time his heart was beating in his throat.

Fucking stuff, he murmured, pills...they make you sicker and sicker!

He was a handsome man, very tall, dark-haired, with narrow, light-colored eyes. The women always noticed his beautiful hands and broad shoulders first. He was a man who knew about his effect on women and used it occasionally. But now, as he crouched at his desk, bleary-eyed, he felt rather miserable. His fingers trembled slightly as he opened a drawer and took out the pistol that lay on top of a pile of bundled letters. He stroked the shiny black metal carefully. A trace of calm returned.

He hasn't been able to sleep since Andreas' death. Ever since he'd returned to the apartment that New Year's morning and found him dead in front of his desk, his life seemed to have gotten off track. Tranquillizers suddenly became his constant companions, saving him through the hours of guilt and anxiety tormenting him. In which he saw the final scene of New Year's Eve over and over again:

I'll go to Laura! he had said. At the same time, his eyes fell on the desk, on the telephone. Andreas knew Laura's phone number; At the time, Laura lived in a small apartment over the Hudson, which David paid for her.

And you won't disturb me there, David thought, not again!

Andreas had phoned Laura a few times when he knew David was staying with her. There had been a few unpleasant scenes. That night David didn't want to be disturbed.

The carpet swallowed his footsteps as he walked to the desk; besides, the record player was still playing. A flick of the wrist and he had put the phone away from the desk and onto the file trolley in the corner. Not impossible that Andreas would find it there, but at least he would have to search for a while.

David, don't go away! Let's talk! Let us...

David left the room and slammed the door behind him. Outside he took a deep breath. Sometimes he wished the old man to hell. Why did people over the age of fifty always think they could meddle in anything that wasn't their business without being asked?

He remembered it as if it were yesterday: he had driven home through a calm morning full of cold and snow. He had driven the car himself, leaning back against the cushion. He would apologize to Andreas for reacting so uncontrollably, and then maybe they could talk about the Laura problem in peace. Possibly Andreas gave up his prejudices – prejudices, David often thought bitterly today. More and more he came to the conclusion that Andreas had been right. But then he had been convinced that Laura loved him. He liked the way she laughed, talked, gestured, sipped champagne with an almost passionate expression on her face, walked across a room or leaned out a window and melted snowflakes on her face. He also liked it when the expression in her eyes suddenly changed from happiness to melancholy and a wistful thoughtfulness appeared on her features. She could never deny the pale, hungry little Bronx girl she had once been, even if she wore an Ungaro suit or a Fendi fur. In her memory existed cold and poverty, fear and violence suffered hundreds of times. Sometimes she snuggled up to him, then it seemed to him as if she were a small animal crawling into its mother's fur. Burying her head on his chest, she whispered, I never want to be poor again, David. Never again. I'm so scared I wake up one morning and I'm back in that ramshackle house in the Bronx, my drunk father is snoring next door and mother hasn't come home, I'm running the streets again looking for her...

'Don't worry, Laura. I protect you. You belong to Me."

'I know David. But sometimes I have such horrible dreams and I get scared when it gets dark or when there are a lot of people around me..."

You shouldn't be afraid as long as I'm with you, Laura. He liked to hold her in his arms and comfort her, and he had done the same thing on New Year's Eve, when suddenly towards morning her fear of the future came back like a high, black wall had risen before her. He loved the role of protector because it gave him power, but he had little psychological empathy and didn't realize that he was creating conflicting feelings in Laura: she was attached to him because he was the first man to give her security and she hated him at the same time because he was the only thin wall separating her from her former life and because of that he had her completely in his hands. He was not in the least aware that he had left her agitated and miserable as he drove back through the snowy New Year's morning to his and Andreas' apartment. He thought Laura was in the same good mood he was in himself. She would later say of him, He was sensationally insensitive.

He understood immediately that Andreas was dead when he saw him lying in front of his desk, and in the next second he understood how the plot must have developed. The phone! Andreas had tried to reach the phone in his last few minutes.

David did not know how long he had stood in the room, taking in every object, every piece of furniture. Every detail was burned into his memory forever: the table with the evening's cold buffet, vomit on the carpet, scraps of food stuck to the plates, unappetizing to look at in the sallow winter morning light, half-full wine glasses. The record they had been listening to lay motionless on the record player, cold cigarette smoke hung between the walls. On the way to the desk Andreas must have lost a slipper; he was lying in the middle of the carpet. In the illuminated aquarium on the shelf, a few fish were chasing each other at lightning speed.

David jumped when suddenly the phone rang. With trembling hands he picked up the receiver. Yes, please?

Mr. Bredow? It was the porter. David cleared his throat.

No. This is David Bellino.

'Ah, Mr Bellino! Good morning The people from the restaurant are here and want to pick up the dishes again. Can I send her up?"

Unfortunately, something terrible happened...

Mr. Bellino? You sound very strange. So what's going on?

'When I just got home I found my uncle lying in front of his desk. He is dead ..."

Those words hung in the air to this day. And the memories. Above all, the memory of how he had put the phone in its old place before the doctor and the police arrived. Afterwards everyone thought Andreas hadn't found the strength to pick up the phone. Nobody pursued the matter further. All the newspapers reported on Andreas' death, but then everything was quickly forgotten. David, the heir, moved into the center of New York society, he now provided the material for the gazettes, his liaison with Laura Hart provided the colorful backdrop for gossip. No one blamed him, although everyone knew that he had had a fight with Andreas on New Year's Eve and left him alone. How could he have guessed that Bredow would suffer a heart attack that very night?

David thought a lot about Andreas, a lot more now that he was dead than he used to. He had liked the old man, more precisely: he had found no reason not to like him, and he had always been ashamed when there was something that nagged at him, that made him oppose inwardly. Andreas had only been nice to him, the argument about Laura Hart had also arisen from concern, and he had undoubtedly suffered from being at odds with his protégé. David remembered the many vacations he had spent in New York: Andreas had done everything for him. He should have a good time, he should experience something, he should want to come back. He had devoted a lot of time to the boy, showing him around the city, taking him to Los Angeles once and skiing to Colorado once. Back home, David had never known where to start telling stories. And yet... there was this faint uneasiness. The melancholy in Andreas' eyes was the same as in David's mother's eyes. This remoteness, this clinging to the past. It had depressed him with Christine, and it depressed him with Andreas. Sometimes he felt guilty because he was happy and funny and couldn't share their sadness. He would never forget the conversation Andreas had with him when he had just turned sixteen. Christmas 1976. David had flown to New York on December 25th. In Andreas' penthouse, a gigantic Christmas tree adorned all over with colorful baubles awaited him, under the sprawling branches of which mountains of presents lay. Andreas offered him a glass of champagne. The record player was playing Christmas music, and there was a smell of candle wax and pine needles. David sat amidst his gifts and felt at ease. Just really comfortable.

He was holding a watch, a beautiful wristwatch with a black face and slim gold hands. A gift from Andrew. He looked up and smiled. Thank you, Andrew. It's really great! How did you know that I wanted exactly such a watch?

Your mother told me, Andreas replied. He eyed the boy and somehow David felt uncomfortable under his gaze. 'I'm glad you like it, David. I'm happy...if you like being here with me at all.«

You know I always like coming to New York, David said cautiously.

Andrew nodded. 'When you finish school in England you will live in America forever. I was often afraid that you might change your mind and suddenly realize that you might not like the country. But you like it, don't you? And you... like me too?"

Of course I like you ...

Andrew nodded slowly. He gazed thoughtfully at the glow of the candles on the tree. 'You know, David, I've always been very alone. Even as a child. Your mother was the only person who was there for me. I had no one else. I was orphaned when I was thirteen, but before that there was no one who really cared for me. I've always longed to have someone all to myself. Someone who loves me, who needs me, who trusts me. Someone who cares about me..."

Oh God, David thought with a little panic.

Andrew looked at him. You know you're like a son to me, David. I'll give you everything I have. I'm so looking forward to when you live here forever.

In New York, you mean?

Here with me. Look, this penthouse is way too big for me alone. Why don't you move in here? Then we would both no longer be alone. I mean, I certainly won't bother you. You're an adult then, and of course you sometimes want to be by yourself. But we could sit together in the evening and talk to each other, we could have breakfast together or sit in the sun. It would be fun to talk about everything that moves and concerns us. There's always someone who'll listen. Andreas had spoken passionately, and David saw that tears were glistening in his eyes. He was surprised to see how lonely the rich man from New York was. The sadness and longing on the other's face paralyzed him.

Damn it, he thought, living here with him!

He had counted on getting his own apartment in New York. It didn't have to be terribly fine or comfortable either, just a place to retreat to and be by himself. The idea of living with Andreas, who was so terribly kind, so terribly caring, so terribly oppressive, terrified him. But like his mother earlier, he couldn't defend himself. In Mum's presence he sometimes wanted to scream, he had often felt so unbearably absorbed by her. He'd had to sleep in her bed with her as a child, and she'd been bemoaning the fact that she had nobody but him ever since his father died. He remembered well the guilt he felt when he wished he didn't always have to be there for Mum. How often would he have liked to play with the other children on Sundays and instead stayed at home because he couldn't bear his mother's sad face.

I'll just drink my coffee alone then, she said in such situations. I was so looking forward to the afternoon with you, David. But of course, if you enjoy being with the other kids more than you do with your boring mother...

'I'd much rather be with you, Mum,' he said then, half angry, half resigned, and finally embarrassed because he didn't seem to love her enough to really enjoy being with her. I stay here!

Now Andreas looked at him with the same expression in his eyes that Mum had always had, and again David felt helpless and helpless anger. If he said no now, if he now declared that he would rather be alone, that would be a bit like hitting an innocent child who only meant well. Andreas meant everything only well. He was goodness itself embodied, and it was the familiar shame David felt at wanting to cry out.

That's a good idea, Andreas, he said politely. Of course I'd like to live with you.

To himself he thought: Damn shit!

Today, after Andreas was dead, he was glad that he had never lost his temper. It would have distressed and upset the old man, and he would not have understood.

had pulled off the dead man's finger that New Year's morning . It crossed his mind with relief: At least I wasn't ungrateful. I didn't hurt him!

He opened the desk drawer again and took out a bundle of letters tied with a rubber band. They had no return address, were typed and contained savage abuse and threats. death threats.

'Don't feel too safe, you swine. Your killer is very close! You will pay for your sins, David Bellino, and the day of vengeance draws near."

David Bellino had been a severe hypochondriac all his life. If he had to sneeze, he immediately swallowed a heavy anti-flu drug. If he had repeated hiccups, he would become obsessed with the idea that he had cancer of the esophagus and see a specialist. If he came across a description of an illness in the newspaper, he felt all the symptoms a few minutes later. The thought of pain and ailment terrified him, and the realization of his own mortality weighed heavily on him. Essentially, he was concerned with preventing an early death.

Some would have dismissed the letters, which have been arriving every two weeks for three months, as nonsense. A man in David's position always had enemies, of course, but by no means were they always on the verge of actually taking up arms and turning the object of their aggression from life to death. David had had the letters analyzed by a psychologist, who had said the writer found great satisfaction in writing such writings but was not at all determined to carry out the threats. The scribe is intelligent and sensitive. I wouldn't classify him as violent.

While David found this statement reassuring, he decided not to rely on it too much. He had been there when Andreas was shot, a scene engraved deep in his memory, and every time he left a building and stepped into the street he half expected the same thing to happen to him. Fear became his worst enemy, bullying him wherever he went. The letters got to him, whether they were serious or not. He had to find out who wrote them, he had to stop it, otherwise he would go mad.

Of course, a lot of people came into question. Business partners he'd recently pestered, employees who'd been fired, political groups, environmentalists who disagreed with anything Bredow Industries was doing. He had to check that out bit by bit. And he would start now. He took a sheet of paper and in neat block letters wrote four names on it:

Mary Gordon

Steven Marlowe

Natalie Quint

Gina Artany

Four names, four people, four destinies. Four old friends of his. He no longer remembered how often he wrote down the names, how often he thought of the people behind them. But the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed to him that it was one of them who was trying to vengefully tear him down.

Everyone had a motive. It could be anyone.

He had invited his friends over and to his surprise they all agreed. They were to be his guests from December 27, 1989 to January 1, 1990, and that after they hadn't seen each other for years. After years of not wanting to see him.

David got up and walked close to the window. Still no light announced the morning. November... that gloomy, gray, cold month. Fog everywhere, and beyond the fog unknown dangers.

"Fog. Fog, fog, all the damn time. You don't see where you're going, nothing,' said O'Neill's Anna Christie. Those were exactly David Bellino's feelings.

David Bellino was by no means a happy person and so he went to see a psychotherapist regularly, in fact he went to a lot of therapists because his patience was not great and if he didn't get immediate help he decided to see someone else.

It's a long, arduous task to delve into a person's psyche, one of his doctors had once told him. "Things that you experienced as a child and completely repressed must be explored and very carefully uncovered. Anyone who is impatient here does more harm than good!«

My childhood was fine, Doctor!

The doctor had smiled indulgently. If you believe that so steadfastly, it's the best proof that something was very wrong.

David changed doctors.

He didn't even know exactly what he wanted. After all, he was healthy. But then, just as he had decided not to seek the help of a psychiatrist, something else happened: he became hysterical, imagining his bones were softening. Or he had dreams in which horrific scenes of violence took place. Or his migraines kept him from work for days. Then he was suddenly sitting on a sofa again.

Why is your name David? asked the doctor. A Jewish name!

»My mother decided it that way... she's German, she was a child during the Nazi era. She wanted to give her son a Jewish name to commemorate the millions of murdered Jewish children.«

She herself isn't Jewish?

"No. But her father died in a concentration camp.«

Her father's picture had had a place of honor in the living room all his life, David could remember that - it was perhaps the first memory of his life. Mum had set up a kind of altar, candles, flowers, a Madonna. Mom was Catholic. There were no Catholic churches in England, but she held on to her faith. David once wanted to reach out and play with the Madonna, thinking she was a beautiful doll with a blue dress and a red veil on her head. Mum had snatched them from him and slapped his cheeks left and right. Don't ever do that again, David!

Then, as he sat on the carpet yelling and screaming – nobody had ever hit him before and he couldn't believe it – Mum had put her arms around him. She cried too.

David, darling, I'm sorry. I am so sorry. You must understand... my father... David, I will tell you about him and you will understand...

Did your mother often talk about her father? the doctor asked, as if he could read minds.

Yes.

What did she say?

I...can't remember exactly...

You don't remember anything?

He remembered his dreams. They were filled with stories from his mother, but often mixed with fairy tales he had been told or pictures seen on television. When he woke up, frantically fumbling for the light switch to make sure he was safe, he couldn't remember exactly what made up the horrific images.

Your mother always loved you very much? the doctor asked cautiously.

David nodded. Yes. I was the only person she had. She had lost her father and her husband, and all she had in love she gave to me.

"And then there was that man in New York who made you his heir. Did you spend a lot of time with him?'

'I've been over there on almost every holiday. In between he visited us.«

And he loved you very much, too?

Yes, he did. David grew impatient, not seeing where this was going. He didn't have anyone else either. Look, Doctor, I...

'That's quite an important point, Mr Bellino. Did you sometimes feel like you were being crushed? Wanting to fight back without knowing what?"

He had scratched a sensitive spot. David felt the choking sensation in his throat that had tormented him so often before.

'Oh... thought I was choking, doctor. Yes, it kept coming back. I was angry, but I couldn't direct it at anyone. you were so good to me They only wanted the best. I should get the best and be the best. Sometimes I wanted to scream, but I never screamed. I was afraid of the horror they would look at me with."

'I don't think your problem, Mr Bellino, stems so much from what you were told, from the horrors your mother was dealing with and no doubt passed on to you. That is more the cause, the root, for a completely different development. Your mother and also Mr. Bredow have you in love - and in the claims that they made of you! - formally... yes, as you put it, smothered. They swooned over so much love. They haven't been able to live out the aggression that a young person has to live out in the years of development . And now you're chewing on it so desperately. The doctor sighed. If you think of yourself as a child, and you have to describe in a few words the child you were, what attributes come to mind?"

'Confused,' David said at once, and then added, 'I've often been frightened by something I didn't know what it was. I was... hypersensitive and a little hysterical. I had horrible dreams."

He didn't realize that he had given an accurate description of who he was today .

New York, December 28, 1989

1

Gina Artany loved luxury. Since she had had to save constantly over the past few years, she now fell into a veritable frenzy of extravagance in one of David's guest rooms. She turned on all the lights, filled the bathtub to the brim, and poured in so much expensive perfume she'd found in a bathroom cabinet that the scent filled the room. She opened two bottles of champagne, only to find once again that they really tasted different. Then she flung the window wide open and at the same time turned the heating up to the stop, because this mixture of fresh air and warmth seemed to her the ultimate in luxury. She could hear Charles, her husband, saying in an anxious voice, 'If you open the window, darling, please turn down the heat. Otherwise it will be too expensive, you know..."

Lord Charles Artany. The man who had given her the title Lady. The man she was living with on an uncomfortable, draughty country house in the north of England and with whom she had sailed into financial bankruptcy. She stepped in front of the mirror, wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe, and studied her face, the face of a twenty-nine-year-old woman who had practically no pennies left in the world and who communicated with the bailiff more than anyone else.

I'm the woman who loved and lost John Eastley, she said aloud, studying her expression as she said John's name. Whenever Charles was around, tears would come to her eyes as soon as she said that sentence; now that the Atlantic separated them, sadness no longer overcame them so violently. Having to pretend love to another man when all her love belonged only to John was perhaps the worst part. She reluctantly endured Charles' tenderness, reluctantly returned it, and felt as if her wounds would not even begin to heal. For the first time the pain subsided a little, perhaps because she couldn't afford to let the sadness take too much space. She had to keep her wits together.

She took off her bathrobe, found she had no time left for bathing, slipped on her lingerie and stockings, and reached for the dress she intended to wear to dinner. Dating from her good times with John, it was black silk and had a low, scooped neckline. With great effort, Gina had sewn the skirt shorter in order to adapt it to the prevailing fashion. She put an emerald necklace around her neck and brushed her long, dark hair. The mirror threw back the image of a very expensively dressed woman. A hilarious thought, considering the desperation of her situation: if David hadn't included a plane ticket with his invitation, she wouldn't even have been able to pay for the trip.

She had never wanted to see David again in her life because her hatred for him was as fresh and fierce as ever, but he was a damn rich man and she needed money so terribly badly. A hundred thousand dollars would get her out of trouble, and David would give her the hundred thousand dollars. Not too much for a botched life, on the contrary, it came off cheap, far too cheap.

He should be hanged and quartered, thought Gina, God knows he deserved it!

She straightened her shoulders. Her confidence, which lately she had sometimes thought she had taken to the pawn shop with all the other things, flowed back into her. The lamplight made her dark brown hair shine like silk and turned her eyes bright amber. She was an attractive and very strong woman, and she had handled more difficult situations than this.

A glance at the clock showed her that she still had a little time before dinner. She decided to have the maid bring her another bottle of champagne. The third today, and she hadn't drunk more than one glass from any bottle. She knew David would find that rude, but she also knew that rudeness had always impressed him.

All day Natalie Quint had been trying to get a phone connection to her apartment in Paris. Her friend Claudine got in touch in the late afternoon, at 11 p.m. Paris time. Combe, came the cheerful and a little rushed voice over the phone.

Claudine! Finally! Where on earth have you been? I've been trying to reach you for hours!

Nat? The connection is so bad, I understand you a bit hard. How is New York?

"It's okay. Where have you been?"

'First shopping, there wasn't anything eatable left in the apartment. And then at Marguerite Fabre's out in Versailles. She really wanted to see me because she wrote a screenplay and thinks only I could play the female lead in the film. From what she said it must be a great story indeed.'

I thought you didn't want to film anymore, Natalie said, alarmed. She cradled the phone receiver between her chin and shoulder and lit a cigarette. In the hours in which she had tried in vain to reach Claudine, her nervousness had reached an alarming level. She repeated in a sharp voice: »You didn't want to film anymore, did you? Claudine?"

Of course not, darling. That came quickly and a little timidly. 'I just thought it wouldn't hurt to see Marguerite again. And she's so happy when people show an interest in her screenplay.«

And there are no other interested parties than you?

'Of course... but I've known her for so long. And what should I have said? I can't always have no time!"

You're free to do whatever you want, of course, Natalie said stiffly.

Claudine immediately started apologizing. Natalie, I didn't mean to upset you. I told Marguerite right away that I really didn't want to film anymore...

What means

'Actually... ah, I was just saying that. I won't be filming anymore, Nat, that's for sure. Don't be angry with me, please!' Claudine's voice sounded childlike and light.

Nat sighed. 'I'm sorry, Claudine. I don't know what's wrong with me either. The usual, probably."

Have you got your pills with you?

Naturally. A lot. dr Guillaume even increased my daily dose by five milligrams, but none of that helps today. That damn dinner tonight! I feel miserable!' And look miserable, she added mentally. She crouched on her bed with her legs drawn up while she was on the phone and could see herself in the mirrored glass door of the wardrobe. She was pale and had dark circles under her eyes. She would need a lot of makeup to cover that up. She was also feeling all the harbingers of her claustrophobia, and this time the Valium wasn't going to help either. The situation overwhelmed her. It overwhelmed her to see David again. What's more, she had to be on the top floor of a twenty-story building from whose windows she couldn't possibly jump in case of danger. Her own apartment in Paris was on the ground floor, and in hotels she made sure that she lived as low down as possible. She tried to recall her therapist's words: 'Stop thinking about escape, Natalie. You don't have to be afraid of anything or anyone. You lead a beautiful, successful, interesting life. There is no reason to be afraid.

Have a beautiful, interesting, successful life! Natalie made a face. In the mirror she could see that her short blond hair on her forehead had stuck together in damp curls. Natalie Quint, the successful television journalist. She had her own talk show in England. One in the US. And now one in France. And who the hell knew how much Valium she needed every day just to be able to enter the studio? To go to a party or even just to the supermarket? The respective producer knew it, who saw her shortly before a broadcast, when she crouched in her dressing room with the look of a hunted animal in her eyes. 'I can't do the show. I can't, I can't, I can't!"

"Natalie! Pull yourself together! You can do it because you are absolutely the best! Everyone knows that.«

I won't make it through.

Don't tell yourself that, Nat! Claudine said from across the Atlantic.

Natalie winced. She realized that she had spoken aloud. Claudine, this dinner... the friends from before... especially David... I'm afraid I'll break down again!

I should have gone with you!

'I've got to try it myself sometime. Claudine, are you thinking of me? Now, all the time? It helps if I know that."

My darling, I am always with you. Always, every minute. You know that!

Natalie listened to the soft, soft voice from Paris like a child listening to a lullaby. Claudine's love and devotion calmed her somewhat. Even now in the evening, twenty minutes before dinner was to begin, she thought: I'm not alone! She considered what dress to wear and let herself imagine that she was a normal woman going to a normal dinner and not worrying about anything. She went into the bathroom and put on her makeup, but as she feared, it didn't help much that night. She still looked miserable.

Why am I even here? she wondered. She stared doubtfully at her face in the mirror.

Is it just because I want to look that pig David in the eye again after nine years?

Steven Marlowe was almost certain Gina was in New York for the same reason he was—she needed money. Back in England, he had followed the press reports about her very closely - from the bankruptcy of her husband, who had invested in an unsuccessful musical and lost everything in the process, to the day when the last willow fence of their manorial estate was confiscated had. If the information in the newspapers was correct, Gina owned little more in this world than the clothes she wore.

Despite everything, it seemed she wasn't as poor as he was, although objectively he probably had more money than she did. Gina had always been a woman who exuded confidence and independence, no matter how dirty she was. There was something indestructible about her that made her triumph over all life's dramas, including the loss of all earthly goods. Steven firmly believes that nothing and nobody in the world could ever really crush Gina Artany.

But he himself, he was once again at the bottom. He had never fully recovered from his first stay in prison, his second time in prison had strengthened all his neuroses. Steven became obsessed with the idea that he smelled like prison, his skin was the color of prison, everything about him was such that he would never be able to deny prison, that anyone who met him would know it at first sight could see.

His memory of that time was so terrible that he still dreamed about it often and then woke up in the middle of the night bathed in sweat. His constant thought was: It must never, never happen to me again. But he knew it could happen again. Once you get caught in the whirlpool you're in, you'll always end up in court at some point. His job as a teller in a London car park was under threat; Machines were to take his place, and once he was out of a job it wouldn't be long before he was involved in some crooked business again. Just to get some money, to be able to afford a bottle of wine or a good aftershave or a cashmere sweater. In his youth Steven had loved silk shirts and cashmere sweaters, he had worn almost nothing else. Beautiful, well-groomed Steve! Always expensive, always elegant, always the best of manners. The young man who blocked the bathroom for hours. Steve spends half his life in the bathroom, half his life screwing himself up to people who could be of use to him! Gina used to scoff. He and Gina had never liked each other. He despised her way of flouting convention, while admitting that he grudgingly admired the fearlessness with which she treated respected people. Gina, on the other hand, called him an opportunist and a slime-eater and predicted a smooth career for him. Thanks to his father's connections, Steve landed an apprenticeship at the prestigious London banking house Wentworth & Davidson at an early age, and he planned to be at least a vice president there one day.

Everything had turned out differently. No more cashmere sweaters and of course no more banking careers. Instead, a life as a failure, as a perpetually convicted man, as a man who no longer had friends and whose family no longer wanted to have contact with him.

Surely he would be the worst dressed of all at dinner again tonight. The suit he was wearing was ten years old and it showed. The Artany, that witch, would certainly manage to act like she still shopped at Harrod's. He himself never succeeded. He also said that he used to be taller and more upright , with broader shoulders. Now he stood slumped, all his complexes and fears expressed in his form.

Steve went to the window. At his feet lay Central Park, lit by lanterns, and very slowly and gently a carpet of snow spread over its paths and trees. Nothing in the world, Steve thought, could be more enchanting than snowy New York. His courage to live rose again. He was thirty now, not too old to start over. He never gave up his dream of starting a new life in distant Australia. And David had to give him the seed capital. It was his duty, because if he hadn't betrayed and deserted him then, his life would never have taken this horrible turn and he would have been in the upper ranks of Wentworth & Davidson by now. He glanced at the clock. Time to go to the dining room. He decided to knock on Mary's first and ask her if she would like to come with him.

Mary Gordon was the only one of the friends who had kept in touch with Steve over the years. She had visited him in prison, had spoken to him regularly on the phone, and seen him occasionally. Partly it was because of their similar situation. David, Gina and Natalie had gone off and each made a career in their own way, but Mary and Steve had settled in London and seen life on its downside rather than on its bright side. Mary was married with one daughter, living in a tiny three-bedroom flat in east London, and her nerves were fraying with fear of the next electricity bill and her husband's violence.

She had been a pretty girl, but the only reminder of that today was her thick red hair, which fell to her shoulders in natural, soft curls. Otherwise she had the appearance of a careworn housewife who is about to turn forty. Her gray-green eyes always looked a bit frightened from the pointy, freckled face. She always seemed afraid of some imminent danger.

Even now she winced when Steve entered her room after knocking briefly. Oh... it's you, Steve!

Did I scared you?

No, I was just thinking. She looked at him, and as so often, he gave her a pang. What sad eyes he had. And those narrow shoulders, the old-fashioned jacket, the once-well-groomed hair that hadn't been cut by a good barber for a long time.

You were so beautiful and so young, Steve, Mary thought, and another memory came to her, a bittersweet feeling, a longing she had kept inside her through the years: she had loved this man once, and all that she had hoped and desired from life had been founded on him. Had he ever noticed? He had always been friendly, companionable and indifferent to her. The handsome Steve who would make a great career. And little Mary, who at seventeen had given birth to an illegitimate child. Suddenly, as they stood facing each other in the dark room with only one lamp burning, Mary was seized with an intense desire to turn back time and have a second chance.

If only we were young again. One more time. I would talk, tell him everything I feel and feel, and even if he didn't care about me, at least I wouldn't have to grow old feeling like I've missed out on the best and most beautiful thing in my life.

You're wearing a nice dress, Steve said. Mary looked down at herself. The dress was moss green velvet, cut simply and slim, it emphasized her still very good figure. Her dainty feet were clad in high-heeled dark green shoes.

Really pretty, repeated Steve.

'The last of my money is in it. I was absolutely insane to buy such expensive things, but once I wanted to . . ." She said nothing.

Steve understood and nodded. 'You're so tired of walking around in the same cheap rags,' he said bitterly, 'of being treated badly because you don't belong, because everyone can see you're poor. In this world you're measured by your money, Mary, and nothing else. It's a shit—existence!"

She touched his arm gently. We're fine, Stevie. Anyway. Look at Nat, she...

What about her?

I think she's addicted to pills. I met her shortly after our arrival yesterday. She just swallowed two. Her hands were shaking and she stared at me like I was a ghost. She is not feeling well.

Look, our Nat! The successful super—journalist! She probably just gets the job done with the help of some tranquilizer.

She's been through terrible things, Mary said. That dreadful crime back in Crantock...

Both were silent, thinking back to the past, then Steve asked, 'How about your husband, Mary? Does he have a job now?'

No. Still not. He no longer searches properly, lets himself go completely and simply lives for the day. I don't know what's going to happen to him.

Your daughter is with him now?

At a friend's place. I didn't want to leave her alone with him. It's enough if he bullies me, Cathy doesn't have to suffer from him too. He's very angry because I accepted David's invitation.

Steve laughed. 'You did it anyway. Progress, kid. You used to kiss when the Lord and Master spoke. Why the new customs? What was so important about David's invitation that you even took on your husband over it?"

I don't know... it felt like...

I know exactly what brought us here, you and me. we want money You too, aren't you, Mary? This man has sinned too much and paid too little. It's time he...

Mary looked at him, and there was dismay in her eyes. Money? No, I didn't come for money! It's just that I think...somehow maybe I'll finally understand why things had to turn out the way they did.

Laura had to remove and reapply all of her makeup for the second time because her eyeliner had slipped and left black bars on her upper lids. She cursed under her breath and reached for a cotton ball. David, who was standing next to her and tightening his tie, said, You're pretty nervous, Laura.

Yes. I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me either.

No? Really not?

Something in his tone made her suspicious. No, she said defiantly, really not.

You were actually at home all day today. I took note of it with amazement. You usually hang around town all afternoon.

Laura, who had been leaning forward to be closer to the mirror, straightened. What do you mean 'float'? she asked sharply.

David didn't look at her. I mean what I say. You disappear and no one knows where you have been for the many hours. I mean, you don't have to answer to me, of course, but I only find that I'm not in the least informed of your steps.

How exactly do you want to know? Should I report it beforehand every time I go to the toilet or bath?

'Your cynicism is quite misplaced here. I'm not even blaming you. I'm just stating facts."

For what reason? If you're not interested in this, then don't bother me with stupid questions. A moment later she cried out softly because David had spun around and grabbed her arm and his grip was so tight it hurt her. What is it? Let me go!

I just want to tell you one thing, Laura! His face was close to hers, she could see the angry glint in his eyes. I want to tell you: Do what you want, go where you want, keep me in the dark about what's behind your forehead, but if there's another man, if I find out you're cheating on me, then he will , I swear to you, it's over. Then I'll make sure you're back where you came from, dirtier than you've ever been. You won't get a dime from me, and you'll find out what it's like to be back at the bottom. Think carefully, Laura. I won't let you play with me!

Reluctantly she freed herself. 'Stop it. You're hurting me. What just suddenly got into you? How dare you suddenly make such a scene here?"

David's facial expression changed. He tried to relax.

Excuse me. I am not feeling well today.

"Is it because of your friends? You wanted her here! You invited her!'

David had finally tied his tie. He stared hard into the mirror. "Naturally. Everything is going according to plan. Just – seeing them all again after so many years is a strange situation. I hope someone will even open their mouths at dinner later!'

"Secure. The dark-haired one - what's her name? Gina? – definitely speaks!«

I'm afraid she even talks too much.

Could she spill uncomfortable truths? Laura asked pointedly. David didn't reply. Laura slipped out of her bathrobe. Natalie is a lesbian, isn't she?

What makes you think that?

'I have a feel for it. Don't ask me why, but I know she is. isn't it?"

Yes, David replied monosyllabically, you're right. In the mirror he could see her walking across the room naked and going to the closet to take out a dress. She had soft, fair skin and the most beautiful body he knew. When he came up to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind, she winced. His head was on her neck. My Darling! Come on, we still have some time. Let us...

"Then I can start all over again with