Chapter Two
"Where the fuck is he?"
A short and stocky middle-aged man with obviously dyed black hair, wearing an expensive Italian suit and an unnecessary pair of Ray Bans perched on top of his balding head, yelled accusingly at a petite young woman with a pretty blonde bob who was standing only a few yards in front of him. As he advanced towards her, she held up her clipboard in defence, like an inadequate shield in front of an advancing predator.
"He should've been here for the briefing ten fucking minutes ago," he roared again, as the subject of his anger backed away from him whilst attempting to press a button on her cell phone at the same time. Her hands were shaking so much she couldn't hit the right spot at her first or second attempt, but she finally succeeded on the third.
"I'm trying Edward's number again, James," she stammered, hoping and praying Edward would pick up this time and get her out of this mess.
James turned away from her, muttering a string of foul expletives under his breath which everyone around him could hear. He was standing at the edge of the conference hall platform just out of view of the audience, some of whom were only just taking their seats. Fortunately there was a wall of chatter in the hall, so his foul-mouthed outburst had only been heard backstage.
For the hundredth time he made a visual check that microphones, tables and chairs were in the correct positions on the platform and everything was in place for his 'superstar client', Edward Cullen, plus the director and the leading actress. They had been booked to take part in a Q&A session to promote their latest movie in front of an invited audience of journalists and film critics, and were due on stage at seven. Already there were a few mutterings of discontent in the hall at the tardiness of the actors, and the last thing James wanted to do was to antagonize the people on whose words a movie could succeed or fail.
The leading actress was still in her suite, no doubt entertaining guests until she received the call from her agent that everyone was waiting for her. This would be the signal for her to emerge from her boudoir and grace the audience with her presence. She was also surrounded by an entourage of make-up artists, masseurs and sycophants, who were employed by the studio to wait on her every need, but she had a different agent from Edward, and he was at that precise moment beaming smugly at James in an irritating manner. He was under strict instructions not to make the call until everything was absolutely ready, as the lady in question had never been known to wait for anyone during her short and over-indulged life.
"Still no reply," James's assistant muttered under her breath, as if saying the words rapidly and quietly would lessen the impact. Her name was Jane and she had been working for James's agency for about two years. She ran his small London office practically single-handedly, and was responsible for organizing the press junkets for James's celebrity clients whenever they visited the UK. She loved her job, but she daily thanked the Lord God Almighty that James ran the bulk of his empire from LA and only left the United States for five-star events such as this.
James was accustomed to being surrounded by his own sycophantic yes-men and women, and usually one of these was on hand to deal with problems of this nature before they reached his notice. But not this time. This time James had insisted on being in complete control of the event the minute he landed in the UK, as he was well aware Edward was teetering on the edge of a breakdown as he had been under an extraordinary amount of pressure during the previous few days. This event was massively important for the movie and for Edward's future, plus, most importantly, his own future, but he needed to speak to Edward before he went on stage and time was running out. But no matter how bad Edward was feeling, James wouldn't even consider allowing Edward to abandon his obligations just because of something which had happened in his personal life, however James was beginning to suspect Edward had done just that and now his own blood pressure was heading off the scale.
It had been obvious to Jane that James was already in a filthy mood when he arrived at the hotel about five hours ago. It was patently evident to everyone there was some sort of friction between him and Edward, but she wasn't going to ask what had caused this as it was none of her business. She was terrified of James, but as there was usually the convenience of at least five thousand miles distance between their offices, she could just about cope with his vitriolic outbursts whenever he visited the 51st State, which is how he referred to the UK, and she wasn't going to rock the boat by trying to find out what the problem was.
The pluses of her job outweighed the minuses, in that she had met many famous and interesting people from the movie world, most of whom were a pleasure to work with. A few of them were complete shits; A-list actors who believed their own hype, like TFD, as Edward preferred to call the leading actress in this movie, who thought she was the sun the world revolved around. But Edward was a gentleman and Jane's favourite client bar none and she looked forward to his London stopovers as he was always a pleasure to talk to and work with. Well normally he was.
James spun on his heel and advanced towards her, knocking her clipboard out of her hand.
"Don't just stand there, find him, you fucking moron. Search every room in this God-forsaken hotel; use fucking bloodhounds if you have to. I want him on that stage, sober and presentable, at seven fucking thirty at the latest. No-fucking-excuses!"
James reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle of pills. He filled a cup of water from the cooler and disappeared into an adjoining office, then tipped three of the pills into his hand, threw them onto the back of his throat and washed them down with the water.
"I need a fucking cigarette," he growled, looking around the room for anything puff-able or drinkable which would help steady his nerves.
Knowing he had to say something to the audience soon as the volume of their discontent was slowly increasing, he made his way into the wings, counted to twenty in his head and walked to the middle of the stage. Flashing his whiter-than-white Hollywood smile, he tapped on one of the microphones, which caused the general chatter in the room to diminish.
"Ladies and Gentleman," he announced, as he fixed his eye on one film critic seated in the front row who was well known in the trade as a nasty piece of work. "There may be a slight delay as Edward Cullen's car is currently stuck in London traffic," he lied, reasonably convincingly he thought, "but he will be here as soon as possible."
James looked out into the audience over the heads of the front few rows and felt a ripple of disquiet flowing towards him like a tsunami. He carried on regardless.
"Edward has offered to walk the rest of the way, but I advised him not to. I don't want to risk him being spotted and torn to shreds by his female admirers."
This comment was greeted with raucous laughter and one comment of, "and a few male ones as well."
James smiled at the joke and threw caution to the wind.
"To compensate for the delay, I've arranged for the hotel to open the bar behind you and complimentary drinks will be served to you shortly. Once again, I apologise for the delay. Normal service will resume as soon as possible."
Spirits were instantly lifted in the room and James smiled to himself, because not only had he bought some time, but a journalist with a few drinks under his or her belt would be more likely to write a favourable review. He quickly walked off the platform and located the hotel events manager who was hovering near one of the offices.
"Get the fucking bar open, now!" he shrieked. "Don't lose any sleep about the tab; the production company will cover it, whatever it costs." He grabbed the man by the shoulders, turned him 180 degrees and shoved him forcefully away from him. As the shocked manager regained his balance, he spoke frantically into a walkie-talkie then turned and gave James the thumbs up.
"Why do I end up having to organize every fucking thing in this place," James ranted, hoping his voice hadn't travelled into the auditorium.
Meanwhile Jane had escaped from the trauma of dealing with her boss face to face. She had spotted he was turning puce under his fake LA tan, which was the signal to get out of the line of fire before he really exploded. While James was in front of the audience stalling for time, she decided to try Edward's suite once again, so was now on the top floor knocking loudly on his door. She had already been up there twice in the last hour and had no response; even though she was fairly sure he had been in the room but was choosing to ignore her. This time she had managed to convince the desk clerk to give her an extra key card, on the pretext that as Mr Cullen couldn't sleep on the plane, she was sure he had taken a sleeping tablet and had fallen into a deep sleep with ear plugs in and would soon be late for the event.
She gingerly slid the card into the security panel and the door clicked open, then she stuck her head into the room and listened for any signs of life.
"Edward, are you in there?" she called, but was met with absolute silence. She could sense that the suite was empty but she still crept in on tip toe, just in case her intuition had failed her this time.
Her envious eyes took in the sumptuous furnishings of the stunning penthouse and she stole a glimpse of the spectacular view of the London skyline through the tall picture windows. Looking around, there was nothing at all out of place in the suite and no evidence that anyone had used the lounge area since it had been serviced before Edward's arrival, other than two pieces of luggage which had been left by the bedroom door. Edward had checked-in carrying just his junket clothes over his arm and a small canvas backpack and had asked not to be disturbed so he could have a rest after his long flight from New York. This was the last time anyone had seen him.
She wandered into the bedroom and saw his suit hanging on the front of the wardrobe, still in its travel cover. On the nightstand beside the bed, she noticed the Omega watch he had been wearing this morning and also his cell phone. On the floor beside the bed lay a glass tumbler on its side, which she thought was odd. She picked it up and instantly caught the strong smell of liquor; whiskey or brandy she couldn't tell. She pulled her head away quickly as the smell made her feel nauseous. She'd had a bad experience with vodka as a teenager and so avoided spirits like the plague.
She walked around to the other side of the bed heading towards the window and almost tripped over the hotel telephone which was lying on the floor. The receiver was off, so she picked it up and replaced it on the cradle, then moved the phone back to its rightful place on the nightstand.
Feeling weary and agitated, she sat on the edge of the bed to take stock of the situation and spotted her reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. She looked worn out and ruffled. Her makeup had almost disappeared and her hair needed attention due to the number of times she either had her phone clamped to her ear or from when she was tearing clumps out of it in frustration.
"Where the hell are you, Edward?" she called out loud, wondering when he had left the room and why, and even more worryingly, without his personal possessions.
She glanced at the hotel phone and thought, "Hmmm, I wonder if he's been called away."
She picked up the receiver and punched in the number for the front desk. Instantly the call was answered.
"Yes, Mr. Cullen. Can I help you?" was the smouldering response from an over-eager receptionist who was trying, unsuccessfully, to sound sexy and alluring!
"This is Jane Wolfe calling from Mr. Cullen's suite. I hope you will be able to help me," she responded, with as much authority as she could muster whilst trying to stop herself giggling. "Can you tell me whether Mr. Cullen had any visitors this afternoon or made or received any calls since checking in?"
After a moment's hesitation, the receptionist replied.
"Mr. Cullen hasn't had any visitors who checked in via the front desk, madam, but he made several calls during the afternoon, but only one connected."
"Do you know who Mr. Cullen was calling and do you have a record of the number?" Jane asked with her fingers crossed.
"I'm afraid this information is confidential. I'm sure you'll understand, madam," was the crisp response from the now disappointed woman on the other end of the line. Jane muttered "Crap" under her breath and put the phone down.
She placed her face in her hands and prayed for divine intervention, but no help was forthcoming from God or from anybody else. This was a total disaster. Her boss's number-one client had obviously managed to leave the hotel at some point during the afternoon, and without a crystal ball or the services of Miss Marple, Sherlock Holmes or Columbo, she had absolutely no hope of finding him.
"Hold on a minute, Jane; try his phone," she said aloud to herself then dived over to the other side of the bed to grab it off the nightstand. She pressed the 'on' button, and a black and white picture of a young woman with long dark hair appeared on the screen. Jane studied the photo to see if she recognized the face, but even though it seemed familiar, she couldn't put a name to her.
Jane tried to open the phone to check the call log but the memory was locked, so this was yet another dead end. She looked at the picture again. The girl was young and beautiful and probably in her early twenties. She was sitting on a low wall with what looked like a beer bottle in one hand, and was smiling at whoever took the photograph in a coy sort of way.
Jane stood up and straightened the now ruffled satin bed cover. On the opposite wall she noticed the huge flat screen television and an idea hit her in a blinding flash.
"Jane, you absolute idiot," she admonished herself. "CCTV; they must have it in the hotel."
Jane shot back to the hotel phone and rang the front desk again.
"Yes," was the sharp response from the now totally disinterested receptionist.
"Where is your security office? I need to look at your CCTV cameras, urgently."
"In an office behind the front desk, madam. Why, is there an emergency?" The receptionist was now interested again.
"I don't know; there could be," Jane responded, then slammed the phone down and headed for the door, still with Edward's cell phone in her hand. As she hit the button to call the elevator, her own phone vibrated and rang.
The now hysterical voice of James was yelling down the receiver at a hundred decibels and Jane instinctively held her phone away from her ear.
"Jane Wolfe, I need you to tell me that you've fucking found him."
"No, I haven't found him," she retorted angrily. "You're his agent, James; you should've kept your eye on the ball and not lost him in the first place, so don't you yell at me."
She was on a roll now and because what she was going to say to him next wasn't to his face, it came out in an accusatory hiss.
"So before you bite my head off again for no reason, I've had the presence of mind to ask to check the security cameras to see if Edward's left the hotel, so for Christ's sake stop delaying and disturbing me, James. I'm trying to get some answers here."
She drew a deep breath and said to herself, "Here goes my job," before she bravely continued.
"And while I think of it, you bullying arsehole, don't you swear at me ever again, and stop saying the word 'fuck'. Can't you think of any other adjective to say other than fuck? But while I'm on that subject, James, just get off my fucking back so I can get on with doing your fucking job, clearing up your fucking mess, without you going into any more fucking hysterics."
Jane slung her phone into her bag feeling tempted to turn it off completely but thought better of it.
The elevator arrived at the lobby and she hurriedly walked over to the reception desk. After showing her identification to the hotel manager who had pre-empted her arrival, he escorted her along a narrow corridor between several offices situated behind the main desk where the hotel's administrative staff worked during normal office hours. Being late in the evening, the rooms were now almost deserted.
The manager opened the last door in the corridor and ushered Jane into a dimly lit room which held at least thirty CCTV screens showing the comings and goings of the hotel. There were images of the main entrance, lobbies, the bars and dining rooms, the elevators and the underground car park, as well as the roads and pavements to the front and rear of the hotel.
A severely overweight man wearing a grey security uniform turned in his swivel chair to look at her.
"Can I help you, Miss?"
He smirked at her suggestively and waved his hand at the screens in front of him while swinging on his seat.
"I need to check urgently whether my client has left the hotel in the last two hours, please." Jane smiled at the man who she saw from his name badge was called Eric, then put on her best pleading look so he would take pity on her.
Unfortunately Eric burst out laughing and answered patronizingly, "Have you any idea how many people come and go through the doors of this hotel every day, young lady?"
Jane's shoulders sagged as she looked at the banks of screens in front of her and witnessed the steady stream of people entering or leaving through the revolving doors to the hotel lobby. She turned in desperation to the hotel manager who was hovering behind her.
"Can you recall if Mr. Cullen left via the front entrance any time this afternoon?"
The manager thought for a moment and replied, "No, but I wasn't at the desk all afternoon, but I know one of the receptionists has been watching the elevators like a hawk all day, hoping to get a glimpse of the famous Edward Cullen who she's nuts about. I'll be right back."
He returned a couple of minutes later and said that the young lady on the desk was insistent Mr. Cullen had not left the building at all during the afternoon, much to her own disappointment. Jane looked at the screens again despairingly and then turned towards Eric.
"Are there any other exits accessible to guests?"
Eric looked away from the screens and replied, "None. If a guest left through one of the fire exits it would trigger an alarm and this hasn't happened this afternoon. The only other way out is through the kitchens."
Jane grabbed hold of the arm of his chair to stop him swinging it around as it was making her feel dizzy.
"If there's a CCTV camera on the kitchen doors, can you please look back and see whether Mr. Cullen left that way in the last hour. I'm sure he was in his room at about six o'clock, so can you look from then on?"
Eric shrugged his shoulders and started punching instructions onto his keyboard. Pointing to a screen just to the right of where Jane was standing, he said to her, "Watch that one."
Jane focused on the plain kitchen door which was surrounded on both sides by large waste containers. The picture was jumping from frame to frame, occasionally showing images of the kitchen staff throwing waste into the bins or diving outside for a quick puff.
"Why is the view changing so rapidly?" she asked Eric who was also watching the screen.
"This system automatically jumps to frames where there's movement" he explained. "Saves going back over hours and hours of footage where there's no action."
Jane glanced back at the screen, just at the moment when the door opened and the silhouette of a slim young man appeared from behind the curtain of fluttering tapes. Jane's hand covered her mouth to stop herself from shrieking then she moved closer to the screen, just to make absolutely sure that the person in the grainy picture was indeed Edward Cullen. She watched intently as he slowly dropped his foot onto the step, then hesitating before his other foot followed. Then he stopped completely and looked up, directly into the lens of the CCTV camera.
After a few more seconds of hesitation, she watched Edward walk away from the kitchen door, out of the range of the static camera and onto the streets of London; away from James, away from her, and, more importantly, away from the hundred or so journalists waiting expectantly in the conference room.
"Oh fuck!" she said.