4.3.2.1 Read online

  They drove along the M4 towards Heathrow in the Rolls-Royce, her father at the wheel, Cass next to him, and her mother in the back, talking on her phone. The radio was on, a newsreader talking about some big diamond robbery: ‘There are allegations that this diamond heist was an inside job to hide unsaleable conflict diamonds, which could fetch millions on . . .’

  Her father reached out and switched the radio off, then asked, ‘Have you decided on the music you’re going to play?’

  ‘Yes, Dad,’ said Cassandra.

  ‘And you’ve put the time in on it?’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’

  Mr Phillips fell silent, then he sighed, checking that Mrs Phillips was still engrossed in her phone conversation, before he dropped his voice and said quietly, ‘Don’t let your mother stress you. She wants you to do well.’

  ‘I know,’ nodded Cassandra. ‘And I’ll do my very best for Sir Jago.’

  ‘And remember, while you’re there, there’s a certain standard of behaviour expected from you. Don’t forget.’

  ‘OK, Dad.’

  ‘No back-talk. You’re not like those school friends of yours you hang out with.’

  Cassandra was about to snap back at him, tell him that inside she was exactly like them, but she bit her lip to stop herself.

  Mr Phillips looked into the rear-view mirror and saw that his wife was still chatting away, oblivious to what was going on in the front of the car.

  ‘Open the glovebox, petal,’ he said, his tone casual.

  Cassandra did as he said. There was a bundle of banknotes held together with a rubber band.

  ‘A little something for the trip,’ he said.

  Cassandra took the bundle. There had to be two thousand dollars in cash.

  ‘It’s for . . . just in case,’ said Mr Phillips. ‘Plus a little something so you can buy something nice for your mother, just to say thank you for all the hard work she’s put in. One of those designer handbags, or some good perfume, or something.’ The ghost of a smile crossed his face. ‘Maybe a soul.’

  17

  The plane was packed. Cassandra sat in an aisle seat, seat belt strapped. Next to her the middle seat was empty, and on the far aisle seat a man slept soundly. Cassandra took out the photo of Brett and smiled at it. Soon, my love. Soon the plane would be taking off, and then she’d be in New York and in Brett’s arms.

  ‘Hey, I think I’m next to you.’

  Cass looked up at the biggest man she’d ever seen. Not just tall, but wide, really wide. He’s never going to fit into that seat, thought Cass.

  The man pushed his hand baggage into the overhead bin and then looked down at Cass and smiled.

  ‘Would you mind if I had your aisle seat?’ he asked. ‘I don’t really like the middle seat. It gives me the jitters.’ He indicated the sleeping man. ‘I’d ask him but he looks out cold.’

  ‘No, not at all,’ said Cass.

  She moved into the middle seat and had barely got herself sitting down before the big man pushed past the sleeping man and then past Cass, his huge arse nearly smothering them one after the other. He slipped down into the aisle seat and gave Cass a friendly grin.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I got more room here. Plus it makes it easier if I need to drop a few kids off at the pool, if you know what I mean.’ And he patted his enormous stomach, adding, in case Cass hadn’t got what he was asking, ‘You know, if I need to take a dump.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Cass.

  The big man grinned and held out his hand.

  ‘The name’s Larry,’ he introduced himself. ‘My friends call me Big Larry.’ He chuckled. ‘I don’t know why.’

  ‘I’m Cassandra,’ said Cass, taking his huge hand and shaking it.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Cass,’ grinned Big Larry. ‘Good to have company for the journey.’

  As it turned out, Big Larry’s company did make the journey go faster. He told jokes, funny ones not feeble ones, and they swapped music on their headphones. Larry was comfortable to be with. Not a potential boyfriend, but fun.

  ‘What do you do?’ she asked him.

  ‘I’m a male stripper.’

  Cassandra looked at him, stunned. Big Larry saw the expression on her face and laughed.

  ‘Kidding,’ he chuckled. ‘I work for IPS — International Parcel Service.’ He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a card, which he gave her. ‘I do the personal stuff. Hand-to-hand delivery. “You want it there, we’ll take it there.’’ This trip is purely business. I’m flying back tomorrow with some documents, then back again almost straight away. I tell you, Cass, right now I’m spending my life on these planes.’ He shifted uncomfortably and said ruefully, ‘You’d think the boss would fly me first class, right.’

  ‘I expect it’s too expensive,’ said Cass.

  ‘No, because the customer pays,’ said Larry. ‘But him, he keeps the price down to get the work, and I suffer.’ He sighed. ‘But I guess that’s the way it is in life. You bend down and let people fuck you in the ass, they fuck you in the ass.’

  ‘How very true,’ agreed Cass.

  As she went through customs at JFK, Cass felt her excitement rising. Soon she’d be face to face with him. With Brett. They’d arranged to meet at a hot-dog stand not too far from Times Square. It seemed a weird place to meet. Somehow Cass had hoped Brett would want to be there waiting for her when she came through arrivals, ready to lift her off her feet and whirl her round, just like in the movies. But he’d said the hot-dog stand. Cass wondered if this particular stand meant something special to Brett. Yes, that was it. It would be like one of those romantic movies, where he and she walked through Manhattan eating hot dogs while holding hands, before he took her to his apartment and made a woman of her.

  She got out of the taxi and saw the hot-dog stand, exactly as Brett had described it. Only he wasn’t there. No one was there, except the guy cooking the hot dogs.

  Cass put her bag down on the pavement by the kerb and stood slightly distant from the stand, looking around to see if Brett was approaching. Thank God she knew what he looked like: handsome, cool but cocky smile, that blond hair. Though if he was wearing a hat, or a hoody, she was worried she mightn’t pick him out. After all, it was night-time here in New York; most people seemed to have their collars pulled up around their necks and faces.

  She checked her watch. Her plane had been on time, and she was where she was supposed to be. OK, maybe she was five minutes late, but after a flight across the Atlantic, five minutes was nothing. Even if he’d been on time, surely he would wait five minutes for her. Of course he would. From the email messages they’d exchanged, she knew he had the kind of romantic soul that would wait for her for ever, even if time itself froze while he waited.

  Half an hour passed, and there was still no sign of him. Fifteen minutes ago she’d begun to feel unhappy that he was late. Now she was getting desperate. What had gone wrong? Had she given him the wrong date? The wrong time? No, she’d emailed him the details of her flight, flight number and everything.

  Maybe he was travelling from somewhere else. Traffic was bad in New York — everyone said so. Getting to Times Square could be a nightmare. She looked at the traffic. Everything seemed to be moving OK. So where was he?

  She took out her mobile and checked it for missed calls, but there was nothing. Brett hadn’t called her. No one had called her.

  What had happened to him? Was he ill? In which case surely he’d have phoned her to tell her. Same if he was going to be late.

  No problem, she’d call him. At least she had his number. She highlighted Brett’s number and pressed ‘call’.

  It rang and rang. No answer. Not even a voicemail service to pick up messages.

  What was happening? Where was he? He couldn’t have stood her up, surely. Not after all those messages they’d exchanged by email. He’d been so loving. So thoughtful and considerate. Just like his photo. But he wasn’t here.

  Another half-hour passed. She knew she was being st
upid, but she didn’t want to leave in case he arrived.

  Finally she called it quits. Feeling dead and sick, she was about to hail a cab, when her phone rang. She was so eager in trying to answer it she fumbled with it. Don’t ring off! Don’t ring off! she pleaded.

  ‘Cass!’ she said urgently.

  ‘Cass, it’s Shannon!’

  Cass kicked herself for not checking the number first.

  ‘Oh. Hi, Shaz.’

  ‘How’s it going over there in New York?’ asked Shannon.

  Cass hesitated. What could she say? That Brett hadn’t turned up? No, she couldn’t have them laugh at her over this. She forced herself to say, ‘Yeah, it’s great.’

  She was still puzzled why Shannon was calling her. It was nine o’clock at night here in New York. Which meant it was some time early in the morning back in England. Really early. Two or three or something.

  She was aware that Shannon was talking, but the connection was bad. Something about had she seen a note?

  ‘A note?’

  ‘Yes, a note,’ said Shannon.

  ‘Nope,’ said Cass. She was getting edgy now. She needed the phone free in case Brett called. ‘Listen, I have to go, Shaz.’

  ‘This note . . .’ began Shannon.

  ‘I didn’t see one,’ said Cass.

  ‘It’s really important,’ said Shannon.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Cass. ‘Look, I gotta go. Bye.’

  She clicked off.

  18

  Cass sat in the back of the cab staring at her phone, willing it to ring, desperate for Brett to call. It stayed silent. Oh God, what had happened? Where was he? Her dream was crashing down around her. She could feel the pressure building up inside her, like she was going into a panic attack.

  She had to talk to someone. Maybe she should have talked to Shannon, but Shannon seemed like she was on another planet about something, hung up about some note.

  Kerrys. She’d talk to Kerrys. No, Kerrys would shout at her and want to know why the hell she was calling her at this time of day.

  Jo. Jo worked at that 24-hour store. She’d be awake.

  She dialled, and Jo appeared in her screen.

  ‘Hi, Jo.’

  Jo looked into the phone, at first surprised, then gave a smile. She was dressed in her uniform, yellow and orange top. Cass could see the stacked shelves of the convenience store behind her.

  ‘Hi, Cass,’ grinned Jo. ‘What’s happening?’

  Cass felt tears suddenly surge down her cheeks.

  ‘He never came!’ she burst out. ‘Brett never came!’

  ‘Calm down!’ ordered Jo. ‘Have you called him?’

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Cass dully, now sobbing great tears of misery.

  ‘You sure you got the right number?’

  ‘Yeah. Oh, Jo, what should I do?’

  Jo looked like she was thinking it over, then she said; ‘Where are you?’

  Cass looked out of the cab window.

  ‘Times Square.’

  ‘You got money?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And your credit card?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In that case, fuck Brett. Go shopping. Then just book a flight back home.’

  As Cass looked at her friend on the display screen, and heard her words, everything suddenly seemed crystal clear. Yes. What Jo said made perfect sense. She was here to audition for Sir Jago Larofsky. But she was also in New York, the shopping capital of the world. And she had money. Money from her mum, money from her dad, with instructions from them to spend it.

  Yes, Brett had broken her heart, but shopping could go a long way to mending it.

  ‘Yeah, OK. I’ll do that,’ she said. ‘Thanks, Jo.’

  She hung up.

  Good advice. Good friend. Fuck Brett. She would if she could, but he’d stood her up and left her broken-hearted. So, instead, she’d shop.

  It was late when Cassandra finished her retail therapy. As she sat on her bed in her underwear in her room at the Chelsea Hotel, looking at the bags from DKNY and Tiffany and all the others, she reflected that her heart was still broken, but all this would help her get over it. Maybe.

  That bastard Brett. He’d seemed so sincere on the Net, and his emails were like they’d been written by a romantic poet. Surely he couldn’t just have been lying the whole time. Well, he sure had done a good job on her. He’d taken her in well and truly. Love? She gave a hollow laugh. There was no such thing as love. Just cheats and liars, and suckers like her who fell for it.

  She looked at the audition paper on her dressing table, with the date and time of tomorrow’s audition with Professor Larofsky on it. A sense of rage filled her. Good, she thought. Harness that rage. Play like you’ve never played before, blow the Professor away! Then at least she’d have something to show for her weekend in New York.

  The buzzer of her room went, and she frowned. Who could it be at this time of night? Room service? She hadn’t ordered anything.

  She walked to the door and looked through the peephole.

  It was him! Brett! Standing outside her hotel room!

  She unlocked the door and threw it open.

  ‘Oh my God! You came!’

  Brett smiled that beautiful, wonderful smile she’d seen in all those great photos. In one hand he held a bottle of champagne.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ he started to explain, then he looked at her, standing in her underwear, and a grin split his face. ‘Wow! It looks like you’re expecting me. I hope you didn’t start without me.’

  Cass stared back at him, sinking into his beautiful eyes.

  ‘I don’t know what to say . . .’ she stammered. ‘I didn’t think you were coming . . .’

  Brett smiled and stepped inside the room, pushing the door closed with his heel.

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ he said, his voice low, deep. ‘Talking is cool, but I don’t think either of us is here to do that.’

  And he dumped the champagne bottle, threw off his jacket, then reached out and grabbed hold of her bra, and Cass knew she was about to enter heaven.

  19

  Cass lay on the bed and looked at Brett. God, he was beautiful! His naked body, bronzed and toned. He had opened the champagne and poured out two glasses. He handed one to her.

  ‘Here,’ he said, with a wicked grin. ‘How about we celebrate your first time? It was good, right?’

  She took the glass from him, slightly disappointed. Somehow she’d expected him to say something more . . . poetic. More like the words and emotions in his emails.

  She took a sip of the champagne. It tasted . . . flat. Well, flattish. OK, maybe it wasn’t one of the best labels, maybe Brett wasn’t a guy who could afford top brands, but it was the thought that counted.

  She patted the bed beside her.

  ‘Lie with me,’ she said.

  She wanted him again. And again. The feeling of him inside her had been . . . wonderful. Yes, there had been pain at first when he’d thrust in, which had surprised her — she’d hoped he would be gentle. Touch her first. Kiss her there. Lick her. Make her ready. Not that she hadn’t been ready. She’d been ready on the plane. But when he hadn’t turned up to meet her she’d closed up again. She’d hoped he’d be . . . tender. She guessed it was just his own need for her that had made him like the tiger he was, pouncing on her, thrusting. So, instead of the moment of losing her virginity being a feeling as if angels were singing and doves cooing, it had been more like ‘Ow!’ followed by another ‘Ow!’

  She looked up at him. He was still sitting there, on the edge of the bed, smiling, holding his full glass in his hand.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Drink up.’

  She lifted her glass and drank it down in one. With cheap stuff like this, that was the best way. She put her glass down and patted the bedsheet again.

  ‘Lie with me,’ she repeated, more urgently this time. More needy.

  ‘Sure.’ Brett nodded. ‘I gotta take a piss first.’

  Cas
sandra frowned. That definitely wasn’t poetry.

  ‘You’re different,’ she said.

  Brett grinned. ‘Hey, I’m the guy in the photos. Don’t I look the same?’

  ‘But you don’t sound the same,’ said Cass. ‘Maybe it’s the sex and the alcohol, but when you type . . .’

  Brett grinned and winked at her, then got up and headed for the bathroom.

  It’s strange, thought Cass. He’s like two people. She sat up in bed, and as she did she felt her head go round.

  ‘Whoa!’

  The room was spinning. She put her hands to her head and tried to steady herself. Jet lag? But she was sure you didn’t get jet lag going east to west.

  ‘Brett!’ she called, struggling to focus.

  She forced her legs out of bed and stood up. Immediately her legs turned to rubber and the last thing she remembered was the floor coming up to meet her.

  20

  Cassandra opened her eyes. She was lying on the bed. She turned her head and looked at the bedside clock, which showed 11 a.m.

  Brett? Where was Brett?

  She looked around. There was no trace of Brett. There was no champagne bottle. It was like he’d never been here.

  Maybe he hadn’t.

  She sat up. Her head ached. Brett had been a dream. But what a dream! Whatever she’d drunk the night before, the dream had been so vivid!

  She tried to remember. She’d come in from shopping . . .

  She looked around the room. The bags with her shopping had gone. Had they been a dream too?

  Fuck! It hadn’t been a dream! It had been a fucking robbery! No, a fucking and a robbery! First she’d been fucked, then she’d been robbed.

  That bastard!

  Suddenly panic welled up in her. The safe! Had he got into her safe?

  She threw her legs out of bed, and immediately felt sick and dizzy. He’d drugged her. He’d put something in that so-called champagne. She’d find him and kill him. But right now she had to find out if he’d got into the safe.