The Trouble with Mojitos (14 page)

“She’s the one who … ” Adam’s voice trailed off.

Rik frowned. “Who what?”

***

Outside in the corridor, Kenzie paused at the sound of voices coming from inside the office. Then she recognised Adam’s voice. “Kenzie’s the one who was with Charlie when he shot himself.”

She couldn’t feel anything from the neck down. She couldn’t move, couldn’t get away. It was happening again. No matter where she went, no matter what she did, the poison spread, and she was unable to escape it.

Inside the room, Rik said nothing.

Adam hadn’t finished. “She destroyed the note he left. Or at least that’s what she told the inquest. But she refused to say what was in the letter or why he did it.” He dug the knife in deeper. “Rumour had it Charlie didn’t commit suicide at all. Maybe she killed him and made it look like suicide.”

Kenzie pressed her eyes closed. She didn’t need Adam’s voice to remind her what had happened. She relived the ordeal often enough as it was. Usually every time she sat down in a job interview with a prospective boss.
Oh, that’s where I heard the name … I remember now, it was all over the press
.

And the press had been all over her.

It didn’t matter that the police hadn’t found anything suspicious. There’d been enough evidence to support the suicide theory and they’d closed the files. But Charlie’s family had wealth and influence. They’d tried to bribe her into revealing the contents of that suicide note, and when she refused they dragged her into court and fed rumour and innuendo to the tabloids who’d lapped up every whiff of scandal.

The story still surfaced every now and then, thankfully only on the back pages these days, and only on slow news days, but that was enough to keep the memory alive.

Rik still hadn’t said anything. Her chest pulled so tight it ached. Why wasn’t he saying anything? It was like that moment back on Isla Corona, when she’d admitted to knowing who he was, only a hundred times worse.

“I know how you feel about scandal,” Adam said. “I thought you should know. Especially now with all the secrets coming out in your family.”

And there it was. The reason she’d rather pretend he was a pirate than a prince. The reason she’d walked away from Rik on that pier in Los Pajaros. The reason she should have said ‘no’ to temptation in London.

There was no way this could ever end well.

The hot burn of tears brought her limbs to life. She turned and walked away the way she’d come.

Sod ‘everything always working out in the end.’ How many times did she have to bang her head against a brick wall before she realised that maybe things didn’t work out, no matter how many back up plans you made? No matter if you thought this time would be different, or you’d finally left the past behind, or that this time your heart wouldn’t be trampled.

She climbed the grand stairs to the private apartments, barely able to see through the sheen of tears.

Rik had made it clear he wanted to indulge himself for as long as this chemistry lasted. He’d offered her an extra week on Los Pajaros. What were the chances he’d want her now that he knew? What were the chances he’d stand by her when her mere presence in the palace could bring more scandal?

He hadn’t said a word.

The least she could do was leave. Now. While she could still walk out the door with a modicum of dignity. While she could still hold her head high.

Rik levelled his gaze on Adam. “Rumour says a lot of things. Did you ask Kenzie for her side of the story?”

Adam shrugged. “She refused to talk at the inquest and she refused to talk to Charlie’s parents.”

Refusing to talk was a lot different from being culpable.

Rik remembered the story. Having known Charlie, of course he’d followed the press coverage until it got repetitive. He’d been surprised it was a suicide. With Charlie’s reputation with women he’d been sure it would be a jealous husband who’d get him in the end.

“Thank you for telling me.” Rik rose, desperate now to get away, to find Kenzie.

This certainly made sense of her anxiety as they’d passed through the media frenzy at the palace gates the night before. He’d lived in the spotlight his whole life and he still found it invasive. How much more so would it have been for Kenzie?

He came close to giving Adam a shove out the door in his eagerness to get moving.

“Good to see you again, mate,” Adam said. “You’re looking so much happier. Looks like your holiday in the islands has been good for you.”

No, Kenzie had been good for him. Rik mounted the stairs of the grand staircase two at a time, almost crashing into a housemaid’s trolley in the corridor outside his suite. He shoved open the door. Where the hell was she? Surely she couldn’t still be photographing the state apartments?

He poked his head into the bedroom.

Her suitcase was gone.

He hurried through the apartment, reaching the morning room, where his anxious gaze found the gift-wrapped parcel on the coffee table. There was no note, but it could only be meant for him.

He ripped the ribbon off, and tore the paper. A large hardcover book of wildlife photographs. He frowned. It wasn’t even a new book. It looked used, the cover a little torn, the pages yellowed at the edges.

He opened the cover and inside, in Kenzie’s large, rounded hand was an inscription.

Only that which is the other gives us fully unto ourselves. – Sri Yogananda.

What the hell did that mean?

He turned the page to the cover plate, and his heart stopped. He couldn’t breathe. His hand stroked down the page, over the bold lettering announcing the photographer’s name: Robert Ellis.

It was the dedication that made everything clear and brought the air whooshing back into his lungs.
My passion. My labour of love. My reason for being.

The fashion photographer might have been a womaniser in a vain and frivolous line of work, but he’d also had hidden depths. Rik flicked through the pages. Glossy close-up pictures of birds and lizards and animals. He paused at the double page spread of a sea turtle laying her eggs in the white sand of a pristine beach.

Tears welled in his eyes.

Perhaps there was more of his father in him than he’d realised. Of both fathers. And perhaps he could live the passion that his natural father never had.

He snapped the book shut and set it down on the table.
Make a difference in the world
, Kenzie had told him.

Where the hell was she?

***

@KenzieCole101: @ProducerNeil I have pictures. Not Warsaw but I think you’ll be very happy.

@ProducerNeil: @KenzieCole101 When can we see them?

@KenzieCole101: @ProducerNeil If there’s wireless on train to Brussels I’ll send from there. If not I’ll send from Eurostar. I’m booked on the last one out.

@LeeHill: @KenzieCole101 Why the hell you coming back so soon?

@KenzieCole101: @LeeHill Can’t talk now. Have a train to catch.

With minutes to spare, Kenzie tossed her last Euros at the bemused taxi driver and dashed into the terminal. She’d bet anything he’d never collected a fare from the back gate of the palace before. She had a fleeting impression of a vast domed roof painted with a vivid mural, and gothic architecture, all columns and pointy windows. She had no more time than that to admire the scenery.

She found an automatic ticket machine, selected a one-way ticket home and swiped her credit card.

Platform five. Train departing in two minutes.

She set off at a run, her wheelie case skidding and sliding on the grey tiled floor.

She needn’t have bothered.

As she passed platform four the announcement came over the tinny speakers, repeated in at least five different languages. It didn’t matter which language she heard it in, the news was still crap: train delayed.

Just her damn luck.

She slowed her mad dash and swallowed a hiccup. Forget Warsaw. Forget her job. She wanted to go home and she wanted to go home
now
. If she didn’t make that connection to the last Eurostar train from Brussels, she wouldn’t get home until tomorrow.

Hot tears burned her eyes and she brushed them away. Not yet. She wouldn’t let them fall until she reached home. Not until she was behind a locked door with furniture to kick and a pillow to weep into.

Every seat on the platform was already occupied, by passengers who looked either bored or annoyed. And one businessman, irritatedly fluffing up his broadsheet as the baby beside him squealed, looked both.

This was a far cry from the trip she’d made into Westerwald. No more private planes, just back to reality with a very hard bump for Mackenzie Cole.

Same old, same old.

She plopped her case down on the platform, sank onto it and buried her face in her hands. She needed a good cry. Crying on a suitcase. She belonged in a sad country song.

Nope. She had to hold back the tears. Hers wasn’t a face that could cry prettily. Tears turned her pale skin splotchy.

If this were a film, right now the violins would be playing, and the hero would be running in slow motion across the airport – or train station – to stop the woman of his dreams from leaving. But life wasn’t like the movies. It was about time she accepted that. Life didn’t have soaring violins and happy ever afters.

Life was messy and complicated, and relationships meant nothing but heartbreak. Roll on the thirty cats, because she was never, ever going to let another man into her heart again.

She only looked up when an ear-piercing squeal announced the train’s arrival. It slid in beside the platform and threw open its doors, as if it couldn’t wait to disgorge its current passengers and get going again.

Which exactly mirrored her feeling.

In no mood to fight the crowds, she stayed on her suitcase until the waiting passengers had pushed and shoved their way on board. Then she made her way towards the emptiest compartment she could find and manhandled her case across the gap and up the giant step onto the train. She paused, casting a look back over her shoulder at the rapidly emptying platform.

If this were a film, then any moment now the doors at the far end of the platform – not that there were any, just a steel turnstile – would burst open and Rik would appear. They would run towards each other in slow motion and there would be tears and declarations of true love.

The conductor’s shrill whistle split the air, the doors began to beep, and Kenzie leapt up behind her case just as the doors swished closed. She leaned back against them and heaved out a sigh. The last bit of hope she’d obstinately clung to fled with her breath and the tears refused to stay back.

By now Rik must have found her gift. And still he hadn’t come after her.

It was well and truly over.

Meanwhile, Rik elbowed his way through the crowd in the terminal. After the peace and quiet and sedentary ways of Los Pajaros, this shoving crowd of passengers, too wrapped up in their own thoughts to even notice him, was an extraordinary culture shock. Not that he’d ever had to fight his way through a crowd before. In the past, people had tended to make way for him. Though perhaps the intimidating bodyguards had something to do with that. How he wished for a man in black with dark glasses and an earpiece right now.

Then he was through the crowd and the sign for platform five,
Departures to Brussels
, was in sight. He barrelled through the turnstile just as the train doors closed. Not caring how much of a fool he looked, he ran down the platform as the train began to hiss and move. He waved his arms. “Arrete! Halt! Stop!”

People peered out the windows at him as if he were some lunatic. But none of the faces turning to look were the one he wanted to see.

The train picked up speed, hissing ominously, and he chased it until he ran out of platform and the last carriage rolled past him.

For the first time in his life he felt the urge to use the F word.

Rik stood at the very edge of the platform, chest heaving, and watched the train’s red taillights disappear from sight. His chest burned as the adrenalin rush waned.

Think.

Even though the train would take three hours to reach Brussels, in rush hour traffic he’d never make it there before her.

If he had a plane ready fuelled and waiting, he might just be able to make it to London ahead of her. But he’d released the charter plane, and in a move to improve the palace’s carbon footprint, Max had done away with the royal plane.

As his breathing returned to normal, Rik’s brain finally caught up. The airforce.

He fetched his mobile from his pocket and pressed speed dial. He was still breathless when the call was answered. “Hi little brother. Remember that favour you said you owed me? I’d like to call it in.”

***

@ProducerNeil: @KenzieCole101 Got the pics. Incredible. If you want a job on JJ’s film, you got it!

@KenzieCole101: @ProducerNeil I’ll think about it.

The train slowing brought Kenzie out of her doze. She rubbed her eyes and stretched, her limbs cramped from sitting in one place too long. Through the windows, London’s gritty landscape shifted into focus. Grey sky, grey buildings.

Around her the other passengers hurried to gather their baggage, eager to reach their destinations.

Eager definitely wasn’t how she felt. Hollow. Numb. Dead. Those were better words.

What did she have to go home to anyway?

She’d achieved everything she set out to achieve. She’d secured locations for this film that the director had only dreamed of. She’d earned the respect of the film’s production team. She already had the next job lined up.

She wasn’t a screw up any more. And even if no-one else recognised that, she knew it now.

But it all felt like nothing beside the hole in her heart.

She’d left the most incredible man she’d ever met behind. Rik wasn’t broken. He didn’t need fixing. And she was sure, with every fibre of her being, that he was the man she’d been looking for. But she couldn’t be selfish. It would be better for him and for his family if she stayed far away.

She’d made tough decisions before. She’d faced worse than a broken heart, and she’d survived that. She could survive this decision too.

The train rolled into St Pancras International and the other passengers began to push and shove to reach the doors. The voices around her increased in volume. And there was music playing in the station. Violins.

The train jerked to a stop. Kenzie stood and reached for her case and heaved it from the rack. On the other side of the carriage everyone suddenly seemed to be pressing their noses up against the windows.

“Look at that!”

“I wonder what they’re advertising?”

The voices filtered through the fug in her brain and she twisted around to see what the commotion was about. But all she could see was the backs of heads.

The carriage doors swooshed open, and the sound of the violins grew louder. She bit her lip. It was the same song she and Rik had danced the rumba to last night. It was surreal. Like she’d stepped into a film and could hear the soundtrack playing.

Long moments passed before the queue of eager beavers had thinned enough for her to see through the windows to the platform.

Her heart did a little jump. Frangipanis in London in October? Short-lived as those flowers were, these had to be plastic. They were mounted on a trellis, forming letters at least four feet high. From where she stood she could make out the word ‘LOVE’.

Wasn’t this just great? As if her life wasn’t already sucky enough, the universe had decided to mock her too. She averted her eyes and headed for the carriage doors.

She bumped her suitcase down to the platform, and turned to join the bottleneck to leave the platform. The sweet frangipani scent was real. Someone had spent a lot of money on this promotion. She breathed it in and tears pricked her eyes as memories flooded her.

Now the full wording of the floral letters was visible:
I love you
.

Three words she never expected to hear from the person she loved more than any other. The man who made every other man who’d passed through her life nothing more than a shadow.

The reason for the bottleneck became clear as she reached the escalators heading down to the arcade. Her fellow passengers trickled past a band at the bottom of the escalator. No, not a band. A small orchestra.

It was past nine o’clock. Surely the station wasn’t busy enough to warrant such a big advertising promotion this late on a weeknight?

She stepped onto the escalator. She didn’t feel up to fighting the tube system with a big suitcase in tow. What were the chances the production office would allow her to claim the cost of a taxi on her expenses?

As the escalator descended, her eyes widened. Between the obligatory station patisserie and the exit to the taxi rank a dance had broken out. There had to be at least a dozen couples dancing the rumba.

“It’s a flash mob,” the woman in front of her said.

A super organised flash mob to provide its own orchestra, Kenzie thought. Or perhaps she was still asleep on the train and dreaming. She squeezed her eyes shut. But when she opened her eyes, the dream hadn’t changed.

And that was when she noticed the man standing at the bottom of the escalator.

Rik.

He hadn’t even taken time to change. He still wore that preppy sweater over the high-collared shirt. He grinned as he spotted her. And he pulled the sweater off over his head.