Love under contract Page 5

  She walked past Gregor, who reached out and held her fast by the arm. “Think hard if you really want this,” he said to her quietly, and looked directly into her eyes. She had never seen him so angry, but she had also not expected that he would be pleased. Gregor and Goodmann had agreed, the case with Zara’s mother could not and should not become public; Gregor had kept the exact circumstances to himself – he didn’t even want David to know.

  That afternoon, Goodmann came into Zara’s office, sat down without an invitation to do so, looked at her without speaking, and given the expression on his face, Zara sensed that he had not come to see her to discuss the weather.

  She was a good lawyer, very good in fact, but she would always find it difficult. She was also beautiful, a dangerous mixture, not to mention her French accent and her name. Men would always think about something other than business, even when she was dressed in a simple black dress, like today.

  He considered how he should say it; he could first begin with something personal: “Oh, I must congratulate you on your engagement,” and looked at the large diamond engagement ring. “Thank you,” she said coolly. She didn’t seem all that enthusiastic – ah, well, these aristocrats. “We have to discuss strategy for tomorrow,” he said. “But everything is ready,” Zara responded, taken aback. “We’re going to settle with LHM tomorrow.” “What . . .!?” Zara was in despair; she had been close, so close . . . “Zara, this isn’t about a personal revenge operation against Gregor Levy, it’s about Allison, our client.” Zara turned pale and pressed her lips together.

  David thought that Gregor was right; this wasn’t so much about their client as about vengeance, because Gregor had tossed her mother out of her own firm. He felt justified in seeking a settlement with LHM. “You’ve spoken with Levy,” Zara realized suddenly and her fingers clenched her fountain pen so tightly that they cramped. Naturally, he wants to pursue this differently; these friendships between men! she thought, despairing. She was close to tears – disappointed, enraged, despondent. “Yes, and I’ll deal with it tomorrow; take the day off – you look tired.” He didn’t want her there, since perhaps LHM would at some point also become a client, and he didn’t want to annoy Gregor with this little lawyer. Zara swallowed her rage; she was after all a professional and feelings were out of place here, as actually in all cases. But it confirmed her perspective on men yet again. She stared at the files until Goodmann left and then looked out of the window at the city. Her education, not even her family background, mattered here if men settled cases behind her back. Nothing else counted; she was just the little girl with the pretty face . . . .

  Zara needed more than a day to work through her anger. Robert, who had hoped that she would now want to see him more often – and finally also succumb to him, was disappointed. At a campaign event in Los Angeles, he ran into Gregor with his new girlfriend, the actress Catherine McLean, who had just won an Oscar in March.

  Catherine was the center of attention and was certainly enjoying it. Gregor also didn’t find it unpleasant, and stood off to the side, chatting with several acquaintances, watching his new girlfriend from afar.

  There he discovered Robert in the crowd. Robert waved and came over to him. He smiled and extended his hand. “Oh, not bad, your new girlfriend,” he said admiringly, as he noticed Catherine speaking with several producers. She was wearing a skin-tight sequin dress that emphasized her feminine curves. Her black hair was down, with unruly locks swirling around her oval face with her every move. She looked over at Gregor again and again and smiled.

  “Yes, she is beautiful,” Gregor agreed, smiling. Oh yes, beautiful, wild, tender. What more could he want? “And how’s politics?” he asked. Sighing, Robert drew his hand through his hair. “Demanding, but next year it’ll be over . . .” Gregor nodded. “And, how are your chances?” “After the last unofficial polls, not too bad, but they can change at any time; first come the primaries and then I still have to convince my friends in my own party.” Robert studied the crowd: There are several beautiful women here, he thought happily.

  Gregor noticed that Robert was ogling the women and undressing them with his eyes; the poor guy must be starved for affection. He had a pretty good idea why. “And how is your fiancée?” Since the settlement, which, by the way, cost him a lot of money, he hadn’t seen Zara, not even at Amos’s. Apparently she was trying to avoid him, which he could understand.

  Robert sighed. “That woman is going to drive me mad,” he said, looking at Gregor. All these Hollywood fillies can’t be as difficult as that Frenchwoman.” Gregor laughed. “I told you so.” That’s what he believed. Robert wrinkled his forehead. “I thought things would be different, and I even asked her to be my wife, she’s so perfect otherwise – and . . .” He looked at Gregor and said softly: “You’ll hardly believe it, but I’ve known her for three months and nothing, nothing – only a kiss – I’m going to die; and yet, she wears necklines down to” – he pointed to his waist – “here.” Gregor had to think back to their conversation at Amos’s – she kept him at a distance, apparently she had never intended to marry Robert, she had used him. Although he couldn’t tell that to Robert, it confirmed his impression of her.

  Shortly before Christmas Zara stopped at Amos’s in her jogging outfit, with a black cap pulled low over her forehead. It had snowed for the first time that morning. Amos pushed the coffee across the counter toward her. “So, Princess, how are you?” Zara sighed. Yesterday, she had sent her engagement ring back to Robert, and had dissolved the engagement in writing. She knew that was cowardly, but she wanted to fly to the Caribbean this evening for two weeks and wanted to have the situation taken care of before the new year. She also didn’t want to discuss it anymore. It didn’t make sense to be engaged to him since her plan hadn’t worked.

  “Well, maybe the next year will be better.” She was about to take a sip of coffee and leaf through the newspaper when Gregor arrived. He looked at her, and saw how her long hair framed her face in large curls under her black cap. He had never actually noticed how long her hair was, and that she also had curls. How pretty she looked, like a little girl. He had to remind himself that he had a girlfriend that he liked very much, and that this was the most conceited thing that he had ever come across.

  Zara didn’t have the least interest in exchanging even a single word with him. She put down the exact change, and said “We won’t see each other again ‘til next year -- Happy New Year, Amos.”

  She wanted to walk by Gregor, but he looked directly at her, smiled, and said, “I thought this was a neutral zone.” She was furious, thinking about their last meeting, and hissed: “Not anymore!” Gregor sighed, more in fun: “Well, just as ever.” She left the café with her head held high. What an arrogant guy, and then he flashes that impudent smile, she thought. But she’ll get him yet, even if she has to play Joan of Arc.

  Amos looked at Gregor as Zara stormed out. “What’s the matter?” he asked, surprised. Gregor laughed. “She lost out in court against me, and she can’t come to terms with it.” Amos grinned; Gregor had told him about the trial. “You hurt her pride. She obviously doesn’t like losing.” Gregor picked up his coffee. “Who does?” he responded, and opened the Frankfurter Allgemeine newspaper.

  2.

  Antonio, her step-father, was waiting for her in Martinique with his sailboat. From there, along with some other guests, they planned to cruise around Guadeloupe, St. Bart’s, and some of the other small islands. Zara loved sailing, and Antonio did too.

  When Zara saw the blue sea, the mountains, the natural beauty of the island, she immediately forgot some of her anger. She was in a good mood when she arrived at the boat. Aside from the fact that she hated sailing and the narrow cabins, her mother couldn’t come along since she had just had another cosmetic operation and couldn’t fly. She was resting in a private clinic in Switzerland.

  Zara didn’t ask which part of the body it was this time, and even Antonio hadn’t wanted to ask her. He was a nice g
uy, and it was unclear if he even knew what was in store for him.

  Antonio came toward her on the deck and took her travel bag. “Hello, Baby . . .,” he said, and gave her a warm hug. He looked outrageously good, with a healthy tan, medium-long hair, and radiant brown eyes. “Hello, Antonio.” She sighed deeply. How glad she was to be here: two weeks of sunshine, two weeks of peace and quiet.

  She had brought her Notebook along to do some work, but also books to read for pleasure. She had brought something else along, too, which Antonio eagerly awaited. “Someone is bringing the crate with the Champagne,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

  Antonio took a long look at his step-daughter. Her slim legs extended from tight, short shorts; she had a somewhat boyish figure – and looked very young, he thought. She wasn’t his type, thank heavens, otherwise he would certainly be unfaithful to his wife, and with his own step-daughter.

  Zara noticed a tall dark-haired woman standing astern, and Zara pushed her black sunglasses to the top of her nose. “Is that Catherine McLean?” she asked Antonio, surprised. He nodded and waved to Catherine. “Yes, hello Catherine, come here and meet my step-daughter!”

  Catherine walked toward them in her white bathing suit. She was a knockout, Zara thought, like a sex-goddess, with curvy hips and voluptuous bosom; in comparison, she looked like a school-girl. Catherine smiled. “Oh, Zara, I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” she said.

  Antonio came up out of the cabin and said, “You two will have to become fast friends!” Catherine looked at Zara and said, “Of course we will. After all, we have to spend two weeks on this boat together. We have the cabin next to yours, by the way.” Zara nodded. We . . .Gregor Levy! She had to stop herself from snickering. She knew, of course, who the second part of the “we” was. In these two weeks, he wouldn’t be able to get away from her . . . nor would she be able to escape from him.

  Catherine had already heard a number of things about Zara, not from Gregor – he hadn’t mentioned her at all, but rather from the newspapers. Half of Hollywood copied the French woman’s style, and Catherine was surprised how delicate she was. In her white shorts, her linen espadrilles, and the spaghetti-strap top, the black sunglasses and the hair tied back, she looked like a teenager. She also appeared not to wear make-up, but she didn’t need it, she was beautiful, different from Hollywood beauties. She seemed very French.

  “Unfortunately, I didn’t see your last film,” Zara said apologetically, while she had a look around the boat. “Then you didn’t miss anything; it was the pits,” Catherine replied candidly and laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry,” . . . Zara hardly ever went to the movies, she didn’t have time for them, and watching DVD’s at home wasn’t her thing either.

  “Well, and what are the two beautiful women discussing then?” someone suddenly asked, with a strong French accent. Zara looked up toward the sun – there stood one of the most famous French actors, whom she knew very well – better than she would have liked.

  “Oh, Marc, I didn’t know that you would be joining us!” She gave him a big, warm hug. He was near to Antonio in age with salt and pepper hair, and evidence of a little too much good food and drink: under his T-shirt one could make out a stately paunch. But he had charm, great charm – and he knew it.

  “Oh, you know each other?” Catherine asked, surprised. “Yes, the princess and I once sailed alone together,” he explained. Zara remembered the trip with dismay; the Coast Guard had to save them. They had so much to drink that they didn’t know any more which way was up or down. Those were different times. It wasn’t just alcohol, but also drugs, and thank heavens no one gave them a drug test or found the white powder in the cabin.

  “Where is your handsome companion?” Marc asked Catherine. Catherine shrugged her shoulders. “He needed to go and buy something.” Marc sat down on a lounge and looked at Zara, who stood in front of him. “Catherine has brought this guy with her – good that I’m not gay!” Catherine smiled, embarrassed. “Oh, don’t – I asked you never to mention anything like that in front of him; Gregor is a little odd in this respect,” and she rolled her brown eyes. Gregor was quite peculiar actually: he didn’t want to be photographed and he found compliments to be very unpleasant.

  Zara looked at Antonio. “Antonio, I have to speak to you in private!” She tugged at his sleeve, just at the moment that the man with the large crate of Champagne arrived. Marc laughed. “Your Highness always brings the most important thing!” Antonio turned away and left Zara standing there. Damn.

  Catherine’s companion didn’t appear – he was expected somewhat later, but Zara had no time to speak to Antonio. Under no circumstances, however, was Zara’s mother to know that Gregor was on board.

  Zara returned to the deck and withdrew to practice yoga – she was here now, and was not going to think about work – breathe in, breathe out – she did a handstand and the world stood on its head, the blue sea merging with the blue, cloudless sky. It smelled like sea air, salt . . . and suntan lotion. Catherine had also found a place in the sun on the deck and was lasciviously applying lotion to every piece of uncovered skin.

  Zara closed her eyes. It was as if she were floating, everything was unimportant, she felt as if she were one with the universe. When she opened her eyes again, a pair of naked legs, a man’s muscular, tan legs, were directly in her line of vision. She had a pretty good idea as to whose they were; looking up from below in her headstand position, she saw Gregor, and as if in shock, she rolled back up. That couldn’t be, could it?

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, pretending to be astonished. She was proud of how good an actress she could be.

  He stood there in shorts and a polo-shirt, sunglasses in his hair, and simply looked at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you would be here. I wouldn’t have come along if I had known,” he lied, smirking. Was he really sorry? She was suspicious that he was doing this to make her angry.

  Antonio came over to them. “Oh, you know each other . . .” “Yes, unfortunately, in a word.” Zara sprang up and pulled Antonio about three feet away. “Mother must never, ever find out that he was here with us!” she begged him urgently. “Why, what’s the matter?” “That’s Gregor Levy, who took mother’s firm away from her.” Of course, he knew the whole story about Levy. Antonio’s eyes grew large. “What? That’s Levy?! But he’s really nice; we’ve already had a very pleasant conversation,” he said. Zara rolled her eyes. “Just be sure that Mama doesn’t find out!” She shook her head. “Yes, she mustn’t get wind of this,” Antonio agreed and casually ambled over to Gregor. “Behave yourselves,” he said to Zara and Gregor, a little annoyed. These family issues have no business here. “This is my boat – there will be no arguing here – understood?!” He looked piercingly at Zara. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

  It was all the same to Gregor whether or not Zara was on the boat. He knew that there would be trouble when she saw him – and when he saw her in her handstand pose, with her beautiful and well-toned legs in the air, the mental image of the seemingly innocent girl, her long hair loosely framing her face, returned.

  “Well, I can behave myself,” he said, looking directly at Zara. She probably wanted to kill him right now and feed him to the sharks if she could have, he thought.

  “You forget, I’m a princess,” she said sharply, meaning that she had manners too. Her claim of being a princess was always meant to be ironic; she was hardly a princess – had really never been, but everyone called her that.

  She turned and walked away – and found Catherine coming toward her. “I’m hungry,” Catherine said, holding her flat stomach. Marc stood behind her – he could always eat; he always had an appetite and was glad that it wasn’t he who raised the subject this time. “Well, then someone has to cook.” He looked around the group. Catherine laughed and waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t look at me, I can’t cook.” No one had really expected that a Hollywood star would step up to the plate, especially not a sex-pot like Catherine McClean.


  Zara sighed; she always cooked on these vacation trips, not because she was a big eater, but because she really enjoyed cooking, even if she didn’t look as if she did.

  Antonio knew this and smiled. “I’ve had a French cook fly in,” he said, and looked at Zara. She grinned broadly.

  Gregor looked at him in surprise; had the actor really brought along a cook? The cabins were all occupied! “Really? I haven’t seen him yet!” “Oh, yes, French, I like that,” Catherine laughed and looked at Gregor, emphasizing the suggestive remark. Zara shook her head. Oh, dear, she was really common, she thought, as she watched Gregor bending toward her and whispering something in her ear. Catherine giggled in response and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  Zara couldn’t watch this; she averted her eyes, turned around and disappeared into the cabin. She could easily make mincemeat out of her.

  She was just in the process of cleaning vegetables and marinating the meat when she felt Gregor standing behind her. “You’re the French cook?” he asked in amazement. He had really not expected that she could cook. There she was in her white shorts, pink T-shirt, cutting vegetables. She quickly turned around to face him.

  “Yes, actually, my knowledge of French is not limited to my language skills.” In her mind, she added, but didn’t want to bring up, the other French skills the actress had alluded to earlier. She didn’t want to sink to her level. Gregor, however, understood full well just what she actually wanted to say. “Perhaps other French skills would have proved useful to keep Mr. Fiancé faithful in Los Angeles,” he said. No sooner had the words come out of his mouth, he was sorry, and thought it was really mean. She probably didn’t even know that he had betrayed her with another woman.

  He waited for a reaction, but her face remained completely indifferent. Zara was a master of self-control, plus she couldn’t care less about whom Robert had taken to bed.