Текст книги "Forty 2 Days"
Автор книги: Georgia Le Carre
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 13 страниц)
Twenty-three
Day 17
He made me lie on the bathroom floor and gave me a hot coffee enema. Twice he administered it. It was uncomfortable. And twice I sat on the toilet until there was no more to void, and I felt strangely light and cleansed.
At the edge of the bed he pushed me back and holding onto my thighs he spread my legs wide and pinned them on either side of my head. My lower body rolled up to accommodate his needs. Now nothing was hidden from his eyes. Completely exposed to him, I looked into his hooded eyes,
He laid his palm on my open sex.
‘You are very damp,’ he said, and immediately after sank into my wet cunt.
He buried himself deeper still. I cried out, but he only said, ‘You were made for me. This body was made to take me and only me. When I am finished with you there will be no part of your body that I will not have been in or on. Every fucking inch of you is mine and mine only.’
He pulled out of me and without taking his eyes off me smeared his thumb with lubricant.
‘Now lie down on your face and present yourself to me.’
I turned over and lay down with my cheek flat on the mattress and my butt rounded and pushed up towards him.
‘Spread your legs more for me.’ I obeyed and he slowly inserted his thumb into the ring of clenched muscles.
‘I own this,’ he said, dipping it in and out. In and out.
Strange, but not painful. Pleasurable even. I knew what he was doing. He was stretching me. Touching the sensitive walls, pressing on vital nerve endings until my body began to move restlessly on the bed. Now he knew I was excited and ready.
He covered his erection with jelly and began to press it against me.
This time I cried out in protest. A sharp, unfamiliar pain. A frisson of panic in my lower belly. He is too big. I won’t be able to take him.
‘You have to relax,’ he said. ‘Let me in… Pain has possibilities, holds a different kind of pleasure.’ His voice was low, seductive.
I wanted to take him in, but my muscles remained clenched, uncooperative. He could not have moved an inch further.
‘You have to trust me, Lana,’ he said and reaching under me began to stroke my clitoris. I began to tremble. Taking advantage of my distracted state, he pushed suddenly into me.
The pain was immediate and sharp, and I screamed out, but he had become motionless, to allow my body to absorb the foreign intrusion, the strange sensation of hot fullness. When he judged my body had come to accept him, he pushed all the way in.
I moaned restlessly.
There was still pain, but more than the pain was the pleasure of being taken by him. In that position that I should have considered debased and humiliating I found decadent pleasure.
He began to move inside me and I couldn’t help the strange animal sounds that came out of me. Firmly gripped by my rectum and the foreignness of what we were doing he came fast, spilling his seed deep inside me, crying out my name. He buckled against me, but he did not pull out of me. Instead he reached over and began pleasuring my clit.
‘Clench your muscles,’ he said and I obeyed.
The unfamiliar sensations of pressure and pleasure coursed through my body. I climaxed, shaking and trembling, as quickly as he had. For some time he remained inside. When he pulled out of me I was sorry. I wanted him back inside me. He belongs inside me.
Every part of me cries for him when he leaves.
I put the pen down and close my journal. Nowadays, I write without resentment, eagerly, because it is the only real and honest communication I have with him. I feel him distant. Moving away from me. Something is bothering him. The days pass away in a haze of sex—it seems to me more like a desperate desire to physically meld with me, to forget for a while whatever is troubling him.
Once he woke up, drenched in sweat, shouting hoarsely, almost sobbing, ‘Not her, please.’
When I touched him, he turned to me with wild eyes, and recognizing me, fell into the crook of my neck gratefully, and hugged me so tightly, I whimpered. But when I asked him about his nightmare, he whispered in my ear, ‘Just don’t ever leave me.’
As if I would ever leave him. As if it was me that set a limit of 42 days on our time together.
Twenty-four
Billie calls. She wants me to drop Sorab off for the afternoon. She is lonely. She misses him. I leave Sorab with her and go to Sloane Square. I want to buy a pink shirt for Blake. It’s a sort of joke. He thinks pink shirts are sissy, and I think they are a turn-on—only really macho men can carry them off. I find the shirt I want and I am about to return home when I suddenly stop in my tracks.
Rupert Lothian.
There are two men with him, business types in dark suits. He must have just had lunch with them. For a moment we are both so surprised neither of us speaks, but he is first to recover.
‘What a lovely surprise,’ he says smoothly, and lays a heavy, proprietary hand on my arm. And grasps it. I try to shake him off unobtrusively, but he tightens his hold. He turns to the two men and tells them he will call them later. They call out their goodbyes and leave together, and Rupert turns his attention to me.
‘I was wondering, just the other day, what the devil happened to you. How’ve you been, gorgeous?’
‘I’m fine, but I’m late and I really must be going. It was nice to see you again, though.’
‘What’s the rush? Come and have coffee with me,’ he invites. His voice is genial and wheedling, but I still have the memory of his oyster-flavored saliva pouring down my throat, his finger digging into my crotch, seeking rough entry. If only I am big enough and strong enough to be able to say, ‘Don’t stop, don’t look at me, don’t touch me. Walk on by.’ But I am not big enough and I remember the sheer male strength of his rugby player’s hands as he pinned me against the wall and abused me.
‘Perhaps some other time.’ I take a step back, but he refuses to relinquish his hold on my hand. ‘Are you still with him?’
‘That’s really none of your business.’
‘As a matter of fact, I am looking for some business. Are you available? Same terms as before.’
I twist my arm and try to wrench it free, but his grip is like an iron clamp. The fury that I never expressed before rises like bile inside me. Without thinking I bring my other arm up and hit him, and instantly he lets go of my arm, and throws a punch in my direction. It should have hit me square in the face, but it only glances my chin. I stare in surprise as he lands on the ground. Flat on his back. Out cold. I look up dazed. A man is standing in front of me. I stare at him. The blood thrums in my ears.
‘Are you all right?’ he asks solicitously. He is looking at my chin.
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Good. You best be on your way, then.’
‘What about him?’ I glance at Rupert, sprawled, unmoving. He could even be dead for all I know.
‘Don’t worry about him. I’ll make sure he is all right.’
I nod, but the whole thing is surreal. The speed with which this man arrived on the scene and the swift, totally professional move that floored a huge man like Rupert. I look again at the man. He has sandy hair, a fit, wiry body and flinty eyes. Dressed in a black shirt, leather jacket and blue jeans, he could be anybody off the street, but I know he is not. He did not appear here by accident.
His kindness is a mirage. Pay him the right money and he will just as easily break my neck. I take a step away from him.
‘Don’t forget your shopping,’ he reminds me politely.
I turn and look at the shopping bag lying on the sidewalk. The pink shirt is poking out. I pick it up and without a word, without thanking him, I walk away quickly. As if I am running away from the scene of a crime. Perhaps I am.
I walk for God knows how long, my mind in turmoil. I come upon crowded walkways where people brush past me, but I feel nothing. When it finally dawns on me, I come to a dead stop suddenly. A woman runs into me and swears inelegantly. She loses her anger when I turn around to apologize. She looks at my chin, mumbles something and walks on.
I walk towards the wall of a building and lean against it.
Finally, one more piece in the mad puzzle. That is why Blake suddenly turned up at the apartment when Jack came to visit. And why he appeared so unexpectedly, his behavior so odd and secretive that day when Victoria’s mother made contact and he suddenly whisked me away to Venice to hide, to think, and to regroup. And that too is how he knew to smell my face the day I kissed Jack.
He has always had me followed. The whole fucking time.
I feel angry and confused. Why? Why would he spy on me? He is so full of secrets. So mysterious.
By the time I reach the apartment I feel lost and unbearably sad. My entire life is a messy lie. Being secretly followed and watched seems an extension of all the other lies that my relationship with Blake entails. I open the front door and Blake comes striding towards me. Of course. He already knows about Rupert. I stand at the door and stare at him. His hair is disheveled, his tie has been pulled loose and is hanging a few inches away from his throat. But it is his eyes that I cannot look away from. I have never seen his eyes so wild with fear.
He lays a gentle hand on my throbbing chin. I flinch slightly. Immediately, he retracts his hand, and I swear I see tears swimming in his eyes. Then he pulls me into his arms and holds me tight. I hear him take a deep breath.
‘I’ve been sick with fear. Where have you been all this time?’ he asks in a hushed voice.
‘I was walking.’
‘Why did you switch your phone off?’
‘I didn’t. My battery was low. It must have died.’
‘Oh God, Lana. Don’t do that to me again.’
He takes a step away from me. ‘He grabbed you. Did he hurt you anywhere else?’
I shake my head, but he pulls the sleeves of my coat and examines my arms. He touches the light bruises and looks at me. There is pain in his eyes. ‘I have taken care of that bastard. He will never hurt another woman in his life again.’
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you so much nothing else matters. But I don’t say it. I can’t. Something is very wrong. I cannot only think of myself. There is more than just me in this equation. There is Sorab. And I will love him the way my mother loved me. I will give him everything. And everything could mean no Blake EVER. Victoria’s mother’s words are still fresh. ‘You and your son are in grave danger.’ It would appear she was right.
I swallow the lump in my throat. I am in such pain I feel sick.
‘What?’ he asks worriedly.
‘Nothing,’ I say. But I actually feel dizzy. If he was not here, I would throw myself on the bed and howl—because I cannot have this man. I grit my teeth.
‘Come,’ he says and taking my hand leads me to the bedroom. His plan is simple. As Billie would say—he is a man, what can you expect? He wants me to sleep. When I wake up it will be all OK.
So I let him put me to bed. I watch him with blank eyes. I know he doesn’t understand. And that he never will. Men are strong in a physical way, they don’t know how to be strong in an emotional way. He thinks if I have no bruises I have no pain. I grasp his hand. ’Why did you have me followed?’
He runs his hand through his hair. He moves away from me. Paces the bedroom carpet like a caged creature. Then he sits beside me. ‘Do you really want the truth, Lana?’
‘Always.’
‘Even if it makes a liar of you?’
‘Even then.’
‘Because I couldn’t trust you with my son. Not in that horrible place you live in.’
My jaw drops.
‘Jesus, Lana, what did you expect me to do? That place is crawling with drug addicts and low-lifes. I can’t even bear it when you go there let alone a helpless thing like him.’
I gasp. ‘You knew all along?’
‘Oh, Lana, Lana, Lana. You must take me for such a fool. Did you really think I would not know he is mine? I knew from the moment I laid eyes on him.’
I am so shocked I can say nothing. Then I remember how silent he had suddenly become when he first looked at Sorab. And then he had blanked his eyes and casually asked me, ‘Does he cry a lot?’
And that was the first day he had stayed the night. That was the first day he stopped drinking heavily and the first day he began to look at me without hate. It was the day he understood that I had left him not because I had been paid, but because I was pregnant. The next day his things had arrived and he had begun to live in the apartment with me.
‘This elaborate charade… It was for you. For whatever you were playing at. I wanted to know what kind of woman you were. What kind of woman are you, Lana? You lie with me every night and you never think to tell me I have a son?’
I sit up. ‘I was afraid.’
‘Of what? Me?’
‘I was afraid you or your family would take him away from me?’
‘What are you talking about? I would never take him away from you.’
‘It is in the confidentiality agreement I signed. If I have your child I will have to give it up.’
He sits on the bed and leans his forehead against his hand. ‘This is all so fucked up.’ He turns to face me. ‘I’m sorry, Lana. I was so stupid.’
‘What happens now?’
‘Nothing. For now.’
A thought suddenly occurs to me. ‘So you were having me followed because you are worried about Sorab’s safety?’
He nods, but his eyes are careful, watchful.
‘I didn’t have Sorab with me today.’ My voice is flat.
‘You have your own detail. Do you think I would protect my son and not his mother?’ His gaze is hard, uncompromising, refusing to be ashamed by his underhand methods.
‘I don’t like being watched. Call off my shadow?’
‘After today? Are you kidding me?’ He stands up and puts some distance between us. He turns to look at me. ‘It’s for your own protection, Lana.’
‘Today was an exception. I don’t need to be protected.’
‘What’s your real objection, Lana? It’s not like it’s in your face, is it? You didn’t even know until today when Brian had to break his cover.’
‘That doesn’t make it better.’
His jaw clenches. ‘I can’t work. I can’t concentrate. In fact, I think I actually go quite crazy when I don’t know that you are all right. Can’t you just humor me on this one thing?’
‘Why are you so paranoid? Is there something that I should be fearful of?’
He comes to me. ‘I have my reasons. You and Sorab are my first priority.’
I look at him stubbornly.
‘Is it really so much to ask, Lana?’
‘OK.’
He breathes a great sigh of relief. ‘Thank you.’
I touch his hand.
‘There was a time I used think Arab men were mad to keep their women covered and hidden. Now I know where the need comes from.’ He jabs his finger into the hard wall of his stomach. ‘In here.’
God, I love this man so much it hurts. It actually hurts.
Twenty-five
I wake up in the cold, bluish light of dawn. For a moment I lie in the elaborately carved four poster bed confused by my surroundings, and then I remember. We are in Bedfordshire, at the Barrington’s estate where Blake’s sister lives. We arrived at the wrought iron electric gates in the dark, and ran up the curving stairs in the light from the moon. It was how I imagined young lovers of ancient times met, in secret and in the dark. We fell into bed and I ravished Blake after we had drunk a whole bottle of vintage champagne directly from the bottle.
I burrow into the delicious warmth of his body. He does not wake but puts a heavy hand on my stomach. I turn my head and smell the sheets. Starched sheets. My grandmother used to have starched sheets in her house.
Blake said I could explore the house and garden as long as I keep away from the west wing, where his sister lives.
And now I long to go into the extensive garden. I lift Blake’s hand and edge out from under it. The morning air is surprisingly chilly. I dress quickly. There is a large extra blanket folded at the foot of the bed. I throw it over my shoulders and slip out of the room. The entire house is dim and silent. I walk down the corridor and stand at the top of the beautiful staircase. I am drawn to a painting.
A family at breakfast scene. Probably Victorian. I go closer to it. A man with rosy red cheeks is spooning egg into his mouth; some of it is dropping off his spoon. He is holding the egg cup very close to his chin. I realize that it is not a picture that is meant to depict the family as dignified or grand, but is a parody of unparalleled and uncouth greed. It is also ironically a celebration of greed.
My hands glide down the polished banisters.
I try to imagine Blake as a boy running in these spaces as I pass the music room with its priceless antique furniture, its rare objets d’art, and its tables of exotic orchids and feel a kind of lingering sadness. Nothing truly happy has happened in this house. Not even the children who ran through these rooms were happy. The entire house is crying out for the sound of laughter.
I pass another room where the heavy drapes are still shut and enveloped in the same sort of despairing gloom. Through that room I can see the main reception room. In the foyer, which looks like the inside of a snail, hangs a Salvadore Dali, blue black with naked ritual dancers. It looks almost like an orgy to me. I cross the black and white checked marble floor and go out of the front door.
Outside it is warmer than inside the house. The sun is filtering through the trees. The vista is as magnificent as that of any old stately house. I walk around the side of the building, admiring the lay of the land. There I come upon a massive, industrial-size greenhouse. Flowers, vegetables, herbs and fruit are plentiful. Some reach the ceiling. In the middle of it is a large hydroponic pond.
At the side of the glass structure, I meet a peacock. I have never seen a peacock before and I slowly inch closer. Suddenly it opens its tail and I am shocked by how beautiful it is. A pure white peacock comes to join it. I wish it would open its tail too, but it doesn’t. Instinct makes me look up and I see Blake standing at the door leading to the stone balcony outside the room we slept in.
He is looking at me.
I wave to him. He does not wave back, but opens the door and walks out onto the balcony. Shirtless, he stands looking down at me. I gasp at the sight. The way the house frames him, draws him in as part of it. I feel the privilege of his background swirl around him like an unseen hand and grasp him in its invisible clutches. He belongs here in these splendid surroundings. In every way he is different from me. I imagine what he must see. A woman wrapped in a blanket. I am not regal or imposing. I am the outsider.
After a grand breakfast Blake takes me to meet his sister.
The reception room we wait for her in has been painted in soft pink. She is accompanied some a woman in a nurse’s uniform and dressed in a long dress and blue sweater. A butterfly pin sits in her hair. Her eyes are as blue as Blake’s, but otherwise she is nothing like him. Her brow is low and juts out and her skin is very pale.
‘Hello, Bunny,’ Blake says softly.
She drops her chin shyly and points at him.
‘That’s right. Your brother has come to see you. Isn’t that nice of him?’ the nurse says.
She nods vigorously.
‘Would you like to show him your zoo?’
Again she nods and smiles.
‘Perhaps you’d like to show him some of the tricks you have taught your animals to do.’
She beams with excitement.
Blake walks up to her. ‘Will you show your animals to my friend too.’
For the first time her eyes come to rest on me. I smile. ‘Hello,’ I say.
She begins to rock her head and smile shyly.
‘Come on then,’ Blake says and holds his hand out to her.
She puts her pale hand into it, and we go outside towards a white marquee where there are seats all around it and a sandy enclosure in the middle. We take our seats and Elizabeth goes to the podium like structure at the entrance of the sandy enclosure. She claps her hand and a horse runs in. It gallops around the enclosure a few times and comes to a stop a few feet in front of her. She raises her hand and the horse rises to its hind legs and paws the air. She drops her hand and the horse ambles towards her. From her pocket she produces a cube of sugar and holds her hand out. The animal accepts the treat delicately and she turns around to smile proudly at us.
‘Well done,’ congratulates Blake.
Elizabeth claps her hands with delight.
I am truly amazed. It is very impressive to see a woman with the mental capacity of a child successfully train animals to perform tricks and obey her. Afterwards we watch Elizabeth’s Indian elephant sit on a stool and turn around in a circle on his hind legs, a cute dog dance on command, and her pet monkey ride a bicycle.
When the show is over Elizabeth grabs Blake’s hand and starts pulling him out of the tent. Blake gestures with his other hand for me to follow them. She takes him to her bedroom, a pink room filled with dolls, children’s books and a rocking horse specially made to accommodate an adult. Taking a hairbrush from her dressing table she puts it into his hand and like a child runs eagerly to the bed and sits sideways on the edge of it.
At first Blake looks surprised that she should remember a ritual from so many years ago, but then he goes and sits behind her. With gentle hands he takes the butterfly clip out of her hair, and begins to brush her luscious, dark hair with long, sure strokes.
The girl clutches at his shirt and sobs, when it is time for us to go. She becomes hysterical when the nurse and a servant try to pry her away and they have to sedate her. In the car Blake is very silent and lost in his own thoughts. The way she had clung so desperately to him had distressed me too.
‘It’s great how she trained all those animals, though, isn’t it?’ I say, in an attempt to take him away from his unhappy thoughts.
‘She doesn’t train them. An animal trainer works with them and everybody just pretends that she has trained them.’
‘Oh! Whose idea was it to do that?’
‘My mother’s.’
The brevity of his answer tells me not to go there. As ever, any talk of his family makes him clam up. I turn my head and gaze at the countryside and think of the fraught child locked away in that sad house, and the woman who won’t acknowledge her child’s existence, but who will go to elaborate lengths to create a private circus, which her daughter can ringmaster.
