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Chapter Eighteen
After a ‘blagging’ phone call to the News Scape offices, Eleanor discovered where Bob Crowe was currently living. She was proud of the fact that she’d used Stinger’s own underhand techniques against him by calling the night staff and pretending to be a prison official, insisting they provide her with Bob’s current address.
“He’s in a town outside Omaha,” she announced. “It’s called Weeping Waters. Shame it couldn’t be Florida. What’s the weather like in Nebraska this time of year?”
“Cold,” Joseph said. “What’s he doing there?”
“Apparently he grew up there. He’s gone back to live in the family home. It was pretty easy to trace him.”
“Well, it means we’ve got a long journey ahead tomorrow,” Joseph said. “I think we should definitely speak to him in person.”
“I agree.”
“You can borrow my private jet,” Adam said.
Eleanor laughed, thinking he was joking. But he wasn’t. Apparently the jet was on standby with a willing pilot whenever they needed it.
Joseph stood up and gently massaged Eleanor’s shoulders from behind. He bent and kissed her on the cheek. “We’ll have our own private jet too as soon as I get my royalty money.”
“You better make sure News Scape pays you before you bring it down to its knees, Joe,” Dylan said. “I assume they owe you a lot.”
“Millions,” Joseph said. “And it’s due imminently. Enough to retire on if I want.”
“But you won’t,” Adam said. “Performing’s in your blood.”
“Yeah,” Joseph said. “But once I’m out of my record contract, I can make the music I
want again.”
Ivan said his goodbyes because it was very late in the UK, so the men started to clear the table and carry the dishes through to the kitchen, which impressed Eleanor, but then she realised she was now alone with Amy and Sarah. She’d been bullied at school by a couple of popular cheerleading bitches, and she’d felt uncomfortable alone with groups of women ever since. She sat up tall and hardened herself as she always did in such situations. She’d decided back in high school that if she built a high enough wall around herself, no one could ever hurt her again. But that just seemed to prevent her own love from flowing outwards…
She glanced towards the kitchen door, wishing Joseph would come back. She sat bolt upright, worried that if she moved, the space might fold up and swallow her whole – crushing her like a Venus flytrap. She forced herself to relax. For some reason it smelled of summer in here – of fresh-cut grass and sunscreen. Nothing bad was going to happen. Sarah and Amy seemed lovely.
She gazed at them, smiling weakly.
Sarah swept her brown bob out of her face. “They’ll probably have a sneaky game of poker after they’ve loaded the dishwasher,” she said. “But Joseph will be back soon, don’t worry.”
“Oh. Good.”
Sarah poured her a glass of wine. “Here, you deserve this.”
“Thank you.” Eleanor rubbed her tired eyes. “God, this is such a mess – I never meant for any of this to happen.”
Amy smiled kindly. “It’s nothing you can’t handle, Eleanor. You’re much stronger than you think.”
Eleanor sipped her wine. “Thank you.” She laughed as she felt herself relax. “God, I was so worried that you two were going to… oh nothing – it’s silly.”
“What?” Sarah asked.
She shook her head. “I’ve just realised that things work better when we women support each other, doesn’t it?”
Amy nodded. “Definitely. It works better when everyone supports each other.”
Eleanor swigged back her drink, enjoying the soothing feel of the alcohol as it soaked into her brain. “I don’t understand why some people have this weird desire to drag other people down. It just feels horrible and causes separation. But when we humans pull together, it feels better.”
Sarah hopped up and threw another log on the open fire, then she poked it with an iron stoker, making the flames sizzle and rise. “It would be nice if your friend Blair Robertson could take heed.”
Eleanor sighed. “Yeah… the press should have the freedom to print stories uncensored by the authorities – it’s one of the ideals that our great nation was built on. But people like Robertson have totally twisted that sacred ideal. In the name of freedom, the tabloids drag down innocent people down and tell us who to hate – all for financial gain.”
