Lana looked a fright—covered in bullet wounds, dried blood, and dirt. An incongruous sight in this elegant living room. I laughed.
“Christ, you scared me. What are you doing here? Get back to the ruin before Jason sees you.”
Lana didn’t reply. She walked in and poured herself a drink.
“You went a bit off-piste back there, love. Running after Agathi like that. Take it from me—nothing is more catastrophic than when an actress starts writing her own script. Always ends in tears.”
I was joking—trying to make her laugh. But it didn’t work. Lana didn’t even crack a smile.
“Where is everyone?” I said. “Where’s Kate?”
“In the summerhouse. With Leo.”
“Good. He gave a marvelous performance, by the way. He’s inherited your talent. He’ll go far.”
Lana didn’t reply. She took one of Kate’s cigarettes from the table and lit it. I watched her smoke, feeling uneasy.
“You spoke to Agathi?”
Lana nodded and blew out a long line of smoke.
I frowned. “And? Did you square it with her? Has she given you her blessing?”
“No, she has not. She’s very upset.”
I laughed. “You should have told her it was my idea.”
“I did.”
“And? What did she say?”
“That you’re evil.”
“That’s a little dramatic. Anything else?”
“That God will punish you.”
“I think he already has.”
“It’s over, Elliot.” Lana stubbed out the cigarette. “She said this must stop. Now.”
Ah, I thought. So that was it. I tried not to sound too annoyed.
“It’s not finished yet. We still have the final act. Agathi has to wait until the curtain.”
“It’s curtain, now. It’s over.”
“What about Jason?”
Lana shrugged. She whispered, more to herself than to me, “Jason doesn’t care. He thinks I’m dead—and he doesn’t care.”
She looked wretched as she said this.
At last, I thought. At last, Lana was awake. At last, she had seen the light. I had been waiting for this moment. Now we could begin again, she and I—on an equal footing this time. We could begin again—with honesty, and truth.
“Very well. It’s over. What now?”
Lana shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“I have an idea—if you care to hear it.”
Despite herself, Lana glanced at me with faint curiosity. “Well?”
It seemed like the moment for truth. So I went for it.
“Remember that night you first met Jason? On the South Bank? We’ve never spoken about that night.”
“What about it?”
“I had a ring on me.… I was going to ask you to marry me.”
Lana looked up at me. I could see the surprise in her eyes.
I smiled. “But Jason got there first, unfortunately. I’ve often wondered what would have happened if you hadn’t met him that night.”
Lana looked away. “Nothing would have happened.”
Now it was my turn to look surprised. “Nothing?”
She shrugged. “You and I were friends, that’s all.”
“Were?” I smiled. “I was under the impression we still are. And a damn sight more than that—and you know it.” I felt suddenly quite angry. “Why can’t you be honest with yourself, just for once? I love you, Lana. Leave him. Marry me.”
Lana stared at me, silent, as if she hadn’t heard me.
“I mean it. Marry me—and be happy.”
It took all of my courage to say this. I held my breath.
There was a pause. Lana’s response, when it came, was brutal. She laughed. A cold hard laugh, like a slap in the face.
“And then what?” she said. “Fall down the stairs, like Barbara West?”
I felt like I’d been punched. I stared at her, stunned. I felt—well, you know me as well as anyone, by now—you can imagine how I felt. I didn’t trust myself to speak. I was afraid I might say something unforgivable, something that would cross an uncrossable line.
So, I didn’t say anything. I turned and walked out.
5
I exited the same way I had entered. I went out through the French windows, onto the veranda.
I made my way down the steps, buffeted by the wind—and by my thoughts. I couldn’t believe what Lana had said to me. That mean joke about Barbara West—it was so unlike her. I didn’t understand.