Warhol's Prophecy

But it felt so good, didn’t it?

Becky?

Becky wasn’t there. She would never have known. You led him on. You’re to blame.

Such thoughts whirled around madly inside her head.

You had your chance. You wanted revenge against Rob. You wasted that chance.

Becky?

Hailey still felt the excitement she’d felt as Walker had held her. As he’d lifted her onto the worktop. As he’d explored her most intimate desire.

She got to her feet and walked back to the car, the passion still burning between her thighs as she opened the door and slid into the front seat.

Barely thinking, she slipped her right hand down the front of her panties, her other hand gripping the steering wheel.

The sensations built quickly as she used the tip of her index finger to stroke her inflamed clitoris.

Her orgasm hit her with a speed and intensity that surprised her. She clenched the wheel, her knuckles whitening, her breath loud and guttural inside the car.

For long seconds she writhed in ecstasy, squeezing her thighs together to increase the sensations. Her body shook violently three or four times, then she lay back in her seat, her eyes half open.

A car drove past, but she paid it little attention.

When she pulled her fingers free they were glistening.

She glanced at the dashboard clock and knew she had to leave now.

Hailey started up the engine.

Adam Walker leant on the desk, head down.

He’d remained in that position ever since Hailey left the house. It seemed to take a supreme effort of will from him to straighten up and look around the room.

He could smell her: the delicate scent of her perfume; the musky aroma of her desire. He could still taste her in his mouth.

Walker let out a long breath and shook his head.

He couldn’t understand what he’d done that was so wrong. What awful act had he perpetrated to make her rush out of the room so quickly?

Walker wandered round behind the desk and slumped down in the high-backed chair, gazing slowly around the room. The eyes from all his paintings stared back at him blankly. There was no sympathy in those blind orbs, no understanding in those expressions.

He wanted to hold her in his arms again. To ask her what he had done wrong. To enquire how he could put it right.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have told her what happened between himself and his father.

The abuse he had suffered.

Some things were best left unsaid, weren’t they?

He shouldn’t have burdened her with that kind of knowledge. It was bad enough having to live with the memories, without sharing them with others.

And yet she had said she wanted to know.

She had said she wanted him.

She wanted him to hold her, didn’t she? She had told him she did.

A great feeling of sadness enveloped him like a shroud.

He looked across at the portrait of Becky.

He had painted her smiling.

Walker wished that Becky could see the painting. It had been done for her.

It was only right that she should see the painting.

If only Hailey had taken it with her.

If only . . .

Outside in the hall, the phone began to ring.

44

HAILEY WAS STARING at the VDU screen when she heard a knock on the door.

Without looking up, she called for the visitor to enter.

James Marsh peered around the door, then walked in.

‘I won’t be a minute, Jim,’ she said, scribbling down a phone number from the vast array before her.

‘Take your time,’ Marsh said, wandering further into the office.

He walked around slowly, finally crossing to her desk and reaching for a small framed photo of Becky that he picked up, smiling at her image.

Hailey finally turned to look at him.

‘She’s got her mum’s looks,’ said Marsh, replacing the photo.

‘Thanks.’ Hailey smiled.

‘I just nipped in to check that this meeting with Waterhole is going ahead.’

‘I rang the hotel this morning and checked. I’m due there at one.’

‘They’re staying at the Crest, aren’t they?’

‘Two of them: Craig and Matt.’ She grinned. ‘The others are doing interviews in London. Their PR girl said they were very busy. We’re lucky to have two of them.’

Marsh snorted indignantly. ‘Jumped-up little shits,’ he said irritably.

‘Their manager’s with them, too. And their girlfriends. And a couple of people from their record company.’

Marsh shook his head.

‘What’s their manager like?’ Hailey wanted to know.

‘Ray Taylor? He’s like most managers. As long as he gets his twenty per cent, he’s happy. He’s been in this bloody game for years. I knew him when he was a record plugger. He’s got plenty of rabbit, but he’s bearable – you know the type.’

She nodded.

‘What’s Rob said so far about you coming back to work for me?’

‘He doesn’t mind,’ she lied. ‘He knows how much I like this job. Besides, he’s got his own business to keep him occupied.’

‘Did you tell him you were meeting Waterhole?’

She nodded. ‘He wasn’t very impressed.’ She smiled.

‘I’m not surprised.’

‘My little girl was excited about it. She asked me to get their autographs.’

‘You’d better check if they can write first,’ Marsh chuckled.

‘Is there anything specific you want me to go over with them, Jim?’

‘Just make sure they know the deal. That the gig’s for charity. That there’s a big party afterwards. That they’re expected to meet a few local big nobs. That sort of thing.’

‘Shall I mention the auction for the signed guitar?’

‘Did you get that sorted then?’

‘I got them to agree to it. They’re bringing a mobile unit with them too, to record their set. The record company have agreed to press a limited edition of twenty thousand CDs. Half the proceeds will go to charity.’

‘And Ray Taylor agreed to that?’ Marsh said, grinning.

‘With a little persuading,’ she told him.

Marsh laughed loudly. ‘Jesus, that must have hurt him.’

‘Jim, I’d better get going.’ Hailey glanced at her watch.

He nodded and headed for the door.