Текст книги "Besotted"
Автор книги: Georgia Le Carre
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 9 страниц)
Chapter 2
I slide into the black swivel chair and open the file in front of me. ‘So, you’re setting up a business?’
She drops into one of the chairs opposite me and tells me that she and Billie are thinking of starting a business. I ask the appropriate questions but my mind is elsewhere. I am not interested in hearing about her business plans.
‘That reminds me, how is your mother?’
To my surprise her face contorts with pain. Seconds pass in acute silence. ‘She passed away.’
I lean forward, eyes narrowed, shocked. ‘I thought the treatment was working.’
She bites the words out. ‘A car. Hit and run.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m real sorry to hear that, Lana.’ And I am, too, really sorry. She was a good woman. I liked her.
She blinks fast. Oh my God, she is going to burst into tears. She stands. I stand, too. Immediately she puts out a hand to ward me off, and runs to the door. In an instant I don’t hate her anymore; all my desire to hurt crumbles to dust and I just want to help her, make it easier, take her in my arms and protect her. I stride toward her and grab her arm. She twists away from me, but my grip is too firm.
‘This way. There’s a staff restroom,’ I say quietly, and quickly opening the door I lead her down the corridor. From the corners of my eyes I can see the tears are streaming down her cheeks. I hold open the toilet door and she rushes in. The door swings closed in my face.
I stand there looking at the door and then I hear her. Wailing for her mother. I lift my hand to push the door open, but I don’t. I take a step back. Then I begin to pace. I have never heard anyone cry like that. I come from a family where all our expressions of sorrow are carefully controlled, a dab from a handkerchief to the eye. When my grandfather died, my grandmother did not even stop the journey of her cup to her mouth. Only after she had swallowed her sip of tea did she say, ‘Oh dear.’ At the funeral not a tear was shed, by anybody.
More than once I go to the door and almost push it open. I want to go in, but I cannot. My feet refuse to move forward. Anyway, it is clear that she does not want me, and that it is unsafe for me. I am already too confused and unhinged by a few minutes in her company. A woman appears in the corridor apparently heading for the toilet. She glances at me and I growl at her. Yeah, that’s right, I growl.
She does a hundred and eighty degree right turn and flees. I look at my watch. Five minutes have passed. The wailing has become long sobs. I continue to pace. I jam my fists into the pockets of my trousers. She’ll be out soon. Suddenly the sobs stop. I go to the door. The door is cheap and I hear the tap running. I step away instantly and move a few feet away from it. I lean my back against the wall and stare at the ground. For the last year I have been dead inside. Now all kinds of thoughts, desires, and emotions are coming to the fore. They are like those strange, mud-covered creatures that the tide uncovers when it goes back to sea. The door opens. She is standing there, her blouse buttoned to the neck. She won’t lift her eyes. She won’t meet mine.
‘Are you okay?’
She nods.
‘Tom will take you home.’
Very slowly her eyes, the eyelashes damp and sticking together, rise up to meet mine. They are like her voice. Level. There is nothing there to hold on to. ‘No,’ she says. ‘Let’s get this loan business out of the way.’
If she had slapped me in the face it would have been better.
We go back to the clinical office.
I take up my position behind the desk once more. ‘Baby Sorab?’ I say and look up from her application form.
And what I see chills my blood. Her face is cold and totally devoid of expression. How could she howl one moment for her mother then sit opposite me with that look. She shrugs carelessly.
‘Yes. We thought it was a good name for our business.’
‘Why baby clothes?’ It seems a curious business for two young girls to get into.
‘Billie has always been good with colors. She can put red and pink together and make them look divine. And since Billie had her baby this year we decided to make baby clothes?’
‘Billie had a baby?’ I frown. I thought she was a lesbian. And then it hits me, of course. It’s what they do. Have a baby—the government gives them a flat and an income for the next eighteen years!
‘Yeah, a beautiful boy,’ she says, and suddenly I have a gut feeling. She’s lying about something. She says something else and I reply, but it is all just a charade. One I lose interest in prolonging.
‘OK,’ I say.
‘OK what?’
‘OK you got the loan.’
‘Just like that?’
‘There is one condition.’
She becomes very still.
‘You do not get the money for the next forty-two days.’
‘Why?’
‘Because,’ I say softly, ‘for the next forty-two days you will exist only for my pleasure. I plan to gorge on your body until I am sick to my stomach.’
‘Are you going to house me in some apartment again?’
‘Not some apartment—the same one as before.’
She sits up straighter. She looks me in the eye. She has some stipulations, too. She wants to bring Billie’s baby to the apartment for four nights a week. And she wants Billie and Jack—the guy she thinks of as her brother and I fucking know is in love with her—to be allowed to come to the apartment. I don’t like the idea, but I let it go for now. Nothing she has asked for is what I would consider a deal breaker. The baby might be annoying, but I’m cool with Billie. Jack might be another matter but I will handle that with time.
I engineer a bored expression. ‘Anything else?’
‘No.’
‘Fine. Have you plans for tomorrow?’
She shakes her head.
‘Good. Keep tomorrow free. Laura will call you to go through the necessary arrangements.’
‘OK. If there is nothing else…’
‘I’ll walk you out.’
Heads turn to watch us. I ignore them all, but Lana seems disturbed by their regard. Again I have that unfamiliar sensation of wanting to protect and shield her. The bank manager catches sight of us and hurries toward me. He has an odd expression on his face, a cross between constipated and stricken, no doubt horribly concerned that I could leave without giving him the chance to flatter me. I lift a finger and he stops abruptly. I pull open the heavy door and we go into the late summer air. It is wet and gray, but it is not cold.
In the drizzle we face each other and make small talk. Suddenly the chitchat dries up in my throat and we are eating each other. The blue of her eyes reaches right up into my body and tears at my soul like a hungry hawk. Its power is enormous. In its claws I feel myself losing my grip. A gust of wind lifts my hair and deposits it on my forehead. She puts a hand out to touch it, but I jerk back. I won’t be won over so easily.
‘This time you won’t fool me,’ I say harshly.
We stare at each other. She astonished, and me, contemptuously. Her hand drops limply to her side. Suddenly she looks unbearably young and exhausted. She glances down the road at the bus stand.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow then.’ In the bustle of the street her voice is barely audible.
‘Tom’s here,’ I say, as the Bentley pulls up along the curb.
She shakes her head. ‘Thanks, but I’ll take the bus.’
‘Tom will drop you off,’ I insist.
‘Fuck you,’ she snaps suddenly. ‘Our contract doesn’t start until tomorrow. So today I’ll decide my mode of transport.’ She swings away from me.
My hand shoots out and grasps her wrist. ‘I will pick you up and put you in that car if necessary. You decide.’
‘Oh, yeah? And I’ll call the police.’
I laugh. ‘After everything I’ve told you about the system—that’s your answer?’
She sags. All the fight gone out of her. ‘Of course, who will believe me if I claim that a Barrington tried to force me to take a lift?’ She resorts to begging. ‘Please, Blake.’
This one is non-negotiable. There is no way that she is taking the bus. I know how to stop her in her tracks. ‘Very well, Tom will go with you on the bus.’
At that point she stops arguing, simply turns around, opens the car door, gets in, slams it shut, and stares straight ahead.
Tom turns around and says something to her and she answers as the vehicle pulls away.
I stand on the sidewalk looking at the car, willing her to turn and look back. Now, Lana, now. If she turns before the car disappears out of sight it will all be all right. Turn, Lana. Please turn back. Turn back and look at me. As the car turns at the traffic light she twists her neck and looks at me. Her face is white and expressionless. But inside me wild joy surges. I want to punch the air. Never have I experienced such a strong current of emotion in my body.
Then the oddest thing happens.
Perhaps it is the churn of high emotions that I almost never allow myself to indulge in, or perhaps it is the shock of seeing her again, but I am no longer standing on Kilburn High Street with badly dressed strangers shuffling around me.
I am five years old and alone and terrified in a room lit only by a naked light blub. I look down at my hands and they are covered in blood. My shirt, my shorts, my legs, even the floor around me has turned red. The blood is not fresh: my fingers are stuck to the knife. The knife is not mine. The blood is not mine. I rip the knife from my hand and let it clatter on the floor noisily. I pull my eyes away from the glinting blade, and thought I don’t want to, I let them travel along the cement floor. Until…
I come upon what I have done.
I did that!
No. It cannot be.
I open my mouth and scream for my Mommy, but no sound will come out. I scream and scream, but no one comes. No one can hear me.
No one.
POV
Forty 2 Days
When Blake Met Sorab
I paused at the bathroom door, shocked.
She was laughing, I mean really laughing, the way I had never seen her do while with me. The laughter was like a fountain of fresh, sweet water bubbling up from deep inside her being. I stared at her as if I was a man who had been wandering in a desert for days without food or water.
I don’t know how long I stood there simply staring. At the sight of water. So near and yet so far away. You’re no better than a heroin addict desperate for his next fix, a voice inside my head taunted. But at that moment there was nothing, nothing I wanted more than to take her in my arms and never ever let her go again.
What was it about this woman that made her impossible to resist even when it was patently clear I shouldn’t trust her further than I could throw her? Slowly, as if in a dream, I was drawn to the centre of her attention—to the shrieking, splashing, lustily laughing baby. It was obvious.
She loved that little creature.
Instantly, I was jealous of it, of the love she had for it. The jealousy didn’t strike me like a bolt, more like weevils crawling all over me. The feeling disgusted me. I didn’t want to be jealous of a fucking baby. I wanted to hate her guts. A small sound came from my throat.
I didn’t plan it: it was involuntary.
Her head whirled around, and right before my eyes, quite interesting really, I watched her withdraw, build a wall around herself. And I had to stop myself from laughing in her face. She knew me so little. Did she really think I was going to hit that wall, and just stop? No wall could keep me out. I would scale it, brick by fucking brick. Nothing, no one could keep me out.
Until I said so she was mine. To do with as I pleased.
‘Hi,’ she fluttered, nervous, very nervous. And so she should be. A secret thrill fizzled in my veins. I wanted to throttle her. Little bitch. How dare she love the kid and not me?
‘Who do we have here?’ I said softly, going into the room.
I looked into the child’s big, blue eyes—solemn, curious, unafraid—and suddenly, that disassociated, unreal feeling I hadn’t felt since I was child drifted in. My mind didn’t say, ‘Who are you?’ It said, ‘Who am I?’ I felt like one of those turtles in Asia that have had their throats slit while still alive and I was bleeding out to make a blood cocktail for some demented human.
Something was wrong with the picture I was looking at. My mind began to race. The baby grinned toothlessly, and in that instant, I understood everything. The slit in my throat healed itself. The incessant feeling of being empty and lost receded.
That was my son in my tub. And that was my woman standing beside him.
In that same moment of illumination I felt the danger. It was in the room standing beside me, like an invisible shadow. But by the time I turned to look at her, my eyes were neutral, betraying nothing. We looked at each other.
I saw the fear, but I also saw the love in her eyes. How could I have missed it? I felt rage, murderous rage at what had been done to her, to us, but also wild and leaping joy that she loved me. That she was pure. She had acted as a mother. Only as a mother. I wanted to grab her and kiss her.
‘Does he cry a lot?’ I asked finally, my voice so smooth and normal even I was impressed.
‘No. Most nights he will sleep right through,’ she assured quickly.
I saw the relief in her face. I marveled at that. She must think me a fool. It would work in my favor.
‘Good,’ I said with a nod, and as if losing interest, I turned away and went out.
My legs took me to the dining room. I closed the door, leaned back against it, and closed my eyes. When I opened my eyes I knew what I must do. I knew, too that this apartment was no longer safe for my family, but moving them would alert him. The only thing in my favor was stealth. As long as he thought I didn’t know I could lay my plans. Otherwise, he would win. He had nothing to lose, and I everything. I picked up the phone and called a business associate. I talked business for twelve minutes. My voice betrayed nothing.
I opened my briefcase. Took some papers out. Looked them over carefully. Made notes on them. Left messages for Laura to action in the morning. But all the time the best and most efficient part of me was coldly, meticulously planning the future. Hours later, I went into the bedroom. I knew he was listening and watching. Let him listen. Let him watch. He would hear and see nothing different. I closed the door softly. She was already in bed, and by the sound of her even breathing, asleep.
Quietly, I stepped through the connecting door that had been left ajar. A sliver of light came in from the door leading into the corridor. I walked up to the cot and stood over him. I was surprised at the rush of pride that coursed through my body at the sight of his sleeping body. I stood in the dark and fought the intense longing to feel the texture of his skin. I clenched my fists.
Soon, soon I would claim him as mine, but not now.
Tomorrow, when it wouldn’t appear ‘strange’ I would touch him. I listened to my body, to the whisper of the purest emotion I had ever experienced. To love without expecting anything in return. With it came the instinct to protect what was mine. They will not do to him what they did me and Marcus. Without another glance at him l left as quietly as I had entered.
I sat next to her and she opened her eyes sleepily. My beauty. I loved her more than life itself. I would kill with my bare hands for her. I bent my head and kissed her. The kiss was gentle and soft. She came awake and opened her mouth. The kiss deepened. That raw hunger between us throbbed into life.
So: he wanted to watch me with my woman. Let him. Watch while you can, Daddy. I know what you are capable of, but you don’t know what I am capable of. I slid my hand down her silky body and tugged at the rim of her knickers. I laid my fingers flat between her legs. Dampness seeped out from under the material.
‘You are so wet,’ I whispered, and inserted a finger into her.
She tensed.
Immediately I stilled. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing,’ she mumbled. I put my hand out and flicked on the light switch. She blinked and squinted.
I lifted her gown up and turned her over. What I saw cut me to shreds. I wanted to cry. I did that to her!
POV
The Billionaire Banker
When Blake Saw Rupert Mauling
Lana At The Party
The brute had her pinned against a wall, his big body completely hiding her from my view. Must have only been minutes, but it was like a lifetime watching that broad back and thick neck. I had to fight the instinct to go over. Break them up. But I am a strategist, a man who knows when to pounce, how to exploit an opportunity. Not yet. Soon. Lose a battle to win the war. So I clenched my teeth and waited.
A woman came and wrapped herself around me. She laid her perfectly manicured red fingernails on the lapels of my jacket and smiled slyly. I glanced down at her and shuddered. I hate it when women I don’t fancy throw themselves at me. At that precise moment Lothian moved his thick body away and I saw Lana. Flattened against the wall, her face white, mascara streaking down her face, and her lips already beginning to swell.
Our eyes met.
Fuck me, I looked into her shocked, defenseless eyes, and I did not feel lust! I did not want to take and use and discard as I had done with all the others. The only thing I registered in my body was the unfamiliar need to protect. Not myself but her. That same sensation I had experienced once a long time ago as a young boy, when I had come across an injured baby bird that had fallen out of its nest. I had scooped it in my cupped hands and warmed it inside my jacket. Taking it home I had made a nest for it and fed it warmed, sweet tea. After it died that evening, I had never again experienced that sensation. Until now.
Stunned by my own reaction I watched as she ran out of the room in her ridiculous shoes. And the dirty looks she got. You should have seen them. You’d have thought she stank of their bullshit. I despised my kind then.
In the corridor I saw her lurch unsteadily towards the powder room.
Less than a minute later I removed the red fingernails from my person, made my excuses and went to wait for her in the corridor. What the fuck was I doing? But the rational, thinking Blake had gone numb. And another part, a secret part of me, that I never let out, that I refused to even acknowledge, had come out and taken over. I crossed my arms and lounged against the wall.
When she came out, I almost did not recognize her. Underneath the layer of badly applied make-up she had the face of a schoolgirl. Hell, she had better not be under-aged. That would be all my plans down the toilet. I straightened and waited for her to come up to me. She was no longer crying. Her head was held high and those indescribably turquoise eyes were proud and flashing, and she would have walked right past me, too, if I had not raised a detaining finger.
An Interview With Blake Law Barrington
Q: What were you thinking or feeling when you approached Rupert Lothian’s table where Lana was seated?
A: Probably confidence. The plan was simple, guaranteed to succeed: When dealing with a psychopath always appeal to the narcissist in them. It doesn’t work with sociopaths; they are a different species all together, but it never fails to fell the psychopath. Invite one to a party of his superiors and he will drop whatever plans he has to pander to his need to feel important.
Obviously, once I got him and the girl at the party I would play it by ear. There has not been a woman yet that I wanted that I have not had, so I was pretty certain I was going to bed that girl.
However, what I heard as I walked to the table made me smile. It wasn’t just going to easy. It was the proverbial candy from a baby scenario.
Q: Why were you so determined to bid for Lana?
A: I told myself it was just sex, but I should have known even then. Who was I kidding? Just sex? With her? That would never be enough. Some part of me must have recognised that this girl was the siren, the temptress that my father had warned me about. The one specially chosen to bring me to my knees. But at that moment I was the moth flying helplessly towards the flame. I guess, I just wanted her light, more than I wanted anything else...
Q: What went through your mind during that first kiss with Lana?
A: Did you just ask me what went through my mind during that first kiss?
Q: Yes. Some readers expressed an interest in your thoughts?
A: Chuckles…Thoughts? My mind was blank. I’d never kissed any girl who made me respond the way her lips and body did. I had to struggle to stay normal.
Q: Can you share with us your true feelings when you had sex for the first time?
A: She’d pissed me off at the restaurant so I was determined not to go out of my way to be nice. I would simply treat her as one did a whore. I’d paid for her and we had an agreement and that was that. She’d said she didn’t want it sweet and flowery, so I’d give it to her straight. But then I found out she was virgin and you know the rest…
Q: Do you remember your first impression of Lana’s best friend, Billie?
A: I’d never actually met anyone like her, a woman with spider tattoos on her neck! Obviously, I’ve seen pictures of women like that, but I’d never met one in person. I was rather shocked though, by how level-headed she was…and her loyalty to Lana surprised and impressed me. She’s unique.
Q: And what about how you felt when you were introduced to Jack?
A: Straight off I knew that he was in love with Lana and I remember that I didn’t like it, but I also knew Lana held him in high esteem so I said nothing. Left it alone and waited to see what would develop.
Q: Could you describe for my readers what you felt when Lana arrived at Madame Yula?
A: The first time: pure excitement. Couldn’t wait to undress her. And when she came wearing that electric blue blouse and those leather trousers, I experienced in my body the powerful sensation of ownership. That was the moment she became mine. And the more I tried to fight the feeling the more deeply I wanted her.
That night I wanted brand her, with my lips, my body, my dick. I wanted to come inside her.
Q: And the second time?
A: Totally different. I was furious with her and I wanted my revenge, and yet even I knew it was more than that. Much more. As soon as she walked through the door, everyone else ceased to exist, I felt that invisible pull, and I all I wanted to do was grab her by the hair, drag her back to the apartment fuck her so hard walking was no longer an option.
Q: What did you really feel the moment you discovered Lana was a virgin?
A: Shock. I was shocked. I’d never been with a virgin. And when she cried…I was confused.
Q: Confused?
A: Yeah. I was overwhelmed by a strong totally foreign urge to hold and comfort her. And those kinds of emotions I didn’t want or need. This was meant to be sex thing. Three months, maybe four, tops six. So wanting to hold on to someone you’ve paid money to use: warning bells were clanging in my head.
Q: What was going through your head when you met Lana’s mother?
A: She was sweet and well educated and she obviously loved her daughter very much. I liked her and I was very sorry when I heard she died. Something brave about her. Lana has that same quality. I rate it very highly in a person.
Q: At what point did you realize your feelings had changed towards Lana?
A: It happened almost immediately, but I was slow to recognize it, or more likely, I didn’t want to recognize it.
Q; The first morning, waking up together, what did you feel?
A: The morning-after scene is always a bore, but seduced by the smell of her hair and the feel of her skin—he has the most amazing skin, like a baby soft and silky—I stayed.
Q: What went through your head when Lana first declared her love to you?
A: If someone takes money to leave you while you are lying unconsciousness in some hospital and afterwards never bothers to contact you again, what would you think if they then claimed to love you. What would you think? Exactly. I thought she was a fucking liar and I hated her guts, but still I wanted her.
Q: Which emotion was stronger, anger or lust, when you met Lana again at the bank?
A: To start with anger, somewhere in the middle of the encounter, lust. And then when she cried over her mother’s death, tenderness, and then it was back to fury. And as she rose to leave, pure triumph. I got her…where I wanted her.
Q: How did you deal with having to choose Lana over his father?
A: Sometimes I have nightmares. In it I am in the plane with my father. He is in his thirties. His hair is without grey and he is slim and tall. He is calmly eating chateaubriand with béarnaise sauce and chips.
“You betrayed me,” he says, wiping his mouth on a napkin. “The same fate awaits you.”
And a hole appears in the side of the plane and he is sucked out. His expression is one of indescribable terror. “Your son will do to you what you have done to me.”
And I wake up in a cold sweat.
