Текст книги "Forty 2 Days"
Автор книги: Georgia Le Carre
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 13 страниц)
Five
By nine o’clock the next morning, Sorab is fed and bathed and I am nervously checking my mobile to see if the battery is low, but it is fully charged and the reception is good. Blake’s secretary’s brisk, efficient voice comes through at 9:05.
‘Good morning, Miss Bloom.’
‘Hi, Mrs. Arnold.’
‘Is this a good time to talk?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good,’ she says briskly, and then falters for a second. ‘I…uh… How have you been?’
‘Fine, thank you.’
‘That’s good. Are you still on contraceptives?’
‘No.’
‘Oh!’ It is clear she cannot understand why I have come off them.
Again the lies trip off my tongue so easily they surprise me. ‘I have been in Iran. There was no need for them. Besides they are difficult to buy over there.’
‘I will schedule an appointment with the nurse for a repeat prescription.’
‘OK.’
‘Next you will meet with the lawyer and then Fleur will take you shopping, and afterwards you have an appointment with the hairdresser, followed by appointments at the nail and wax bar.’
Suddenly I am swamped with a sense of déjà vu. I’ve done this before. Definitely. First time I was naïve. Stupid. That first kiss, it had blown me away, but now I know… I am the ‘unnecessary, unwanted thirst’. The man who thirsts for me also despises me.
But then I thought it was all a fantastic adventure. A romantic dream. How I had jumped in with both feet. All I knew about him and his family was what Bill had read out to me from the Internet. Now I have done my research, sitting alone and pregnant by a window in Iran and I know a lot, a lot more about the great Barrington clan.
I know for example that there are no fewer than a hundred and fifty-three species or subspecies of insect which bear the name Barrington, fifty-eight birds, eighteen mammals and fourteen plants including a rare slipper orchid, three fish, two spiders and two reptiles. Numerous streets around the world and dishes have been named after them too. The only dish I still remember is the one with prawns, cognac, and Gruyère on toast.
They are the twenty-first-century Medicis, offering patronage to artists, writers, and architects. I learned about the houses they have donated to the people and the staggering amounts of money they have expanded into beneficiaries ranging from universities, hospitals, pubic libraries, charities, non profit institutions and archaeological digs. But Blake had already explained how the very rich play the philanthropic game to me. Steal from millions over a long period and give a small portion back as a taxable gift.
Over the weeks I came to realize that Blake’s words were true. If you see it in Wikipedia or a mainstream news outlet then we have planted it. That everything I read and saw about the Barrington family and history was part of a picture, a false picture. They wanted the world to believe the bogus biographies that they themselves had commissioned, all of which declared their family as a once great dynasty that had since lost most of its wealth and influence. It was the picture of a benign, powerless house that jealously guarded its privacy.
Then I came across a Youtube video of Blake’s father. There he was not the cold-eyed man who wanted to arbitrarily dismiss me to the toilet so he could talk to his son. Dressed in an expensive cashmere coat and metal rimmed glasses he worried about the world economy in a mild mannered way. His opinion: more austerity measures should be implemented worldwide before any recovery could be achieved. His silver hair made him look like someone’s grandfather, but as I watched him I felt a cold shiver go up my spine.
At his transformation.
At the benevolent role he had so easily and effectively slipped into. If I had not seen the frosty arrogance with which, the blue stones had snubbed me I would never have believed these two men were the same person, but it gives chilling credence to Blake’s warning that nothing in his world is as it seems to those in mine. That was when I began to search through the conspiracy sites. And they were rife with ‘information’.
The Barringtons were blamed for everything from secretly starting the American Civil War in order to capture the monetary system, precipitating the American bank panic of 1907, to duping Congress into approving The Fed in 1913, to funding the Bolsheviks and Hitler. They were even accused of having a hand in the assassination of Kennedy. I gave up after a while.
There was one thing they got right, though.
They refused to believe the fairy tale that the Barringtons were a declining dynasty, whose members could not even make the Forbes rich list. As far as they were concerned the Barringtons were one of thirteen old families. Through complicated structures of off-shores companies they owned all the debt of all the countries. They were trillionaires and the true rulers behind governments and world organizations. To be a Barrington is to be a modern Croesus, a twentieth-century Midas.
‘Is it all right if Tom knocks on your door at 10:00 am?’ Laura Arnold asks.
The state of the lift flashes into my mind and I feel ashamed. ‘No. Just ask him to call me on my mobile when he gets close to the flat. I’ll come down.’
‘All right then. Have a nice day, Miss Bloom.’
I thank her and end the call. As I place the phone on the dining table Billie walks in. Her eyes are half-shut. She goes to the fridge, takes a mouthful of orange juice straight from the carton and turns to face me. Her face is unsmiling.
‘What time are you leaving?’
‘Less than an hour.’
‘Right,’ she says.
‘What would you do if you were me, Bill?’
‘I don’t know because I don’t have all the facts, do I?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You took the money and disappeared on him, no note, no goodbye, while he was unconscious in hospital after he had risked, if what you tell me is true, his precious life to save your lowly one. So in his eyes you must be the worst kind of gold digging slut that ever walked English soil. Instead of wanting to jump your bones shouldn’t he just put it down to a lucky escape and thoroughly detest you by now?’
I put my head down. I feel ashamed that I have not told Bill the whole truth. ‘You’re right, he does detest me, but I’m like an itch that must be scratched.’
‘Hmmm… There’s something wrong with this explanation too—scratched itches get worse.’
‘OK. He called it a disease.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Lana. What are getting yourself into?’
I close my eyes. I am making it worse. ‘Look, Bill, it is not as bad as it looks.’
‘Make it look better then.’
‘I can’t. All I can say is, I have to do this. I know I left him, but I have never ever stopped wanting him. There is not a single day that has gone by when I have not thought of him and longed for him. I don’t fool myself that I can have him. I know I can’t, but these 42 days are mine and nobody and nothing is taking them away from me. So he wants to punish me. Let him. A slap from him is better than nothing.’
Bill’s mouth is hanging open with shock. She looks at me as if she has never known me. ‘Are you going into some kind of sick sado-masochistic relationship?’
This time it is easy to meet her eyes. ‘Blake doesn’t know how to hurt me. Even if I asked him to, he couldn’t. He believes he can, but he can’t. I know that. You’ve met him. What do you think?’
Bill sighs. ‘I liked him,’ she admits finally.
I smile, but inside I am incredibly sad. I feel as if I can never touch real or lasting happiness. Everything gets taken away. ‘Yes, I got the impression he likes you too.’
Bill turns red.
‘Are you blushing, Bill?’
‘If he ever tries anything funny, you’re out of that sick contract in a flash,’ she says gruffly.
I nod. She has just ensured that I will never tell her the whole story.
Six
The appointment with the nurse is quick and painless.
Next stop: the solicitor’s offices. I get shown into Mr. Jay Benby’s room by his secretary. He stands in greeting. I look around. Everything is exactly the same.
‘How are you, Miss Bloom?’ he says, half-rising from his chair, the same trust-me-I know-what’s-best-for-you smile slowly slithering into his face like he is showing off his pet snake.
I drop my eyes to his turquoise ring and ask, ‘Where do I sign?’
He draws himself to his full height. ‘I must remind you, Miss Bloom, about the importance and the serious implications of what you are about to sign,’ he begins with sanctimonious arrogance, but I cut him off. Last time I was the young thing that came into his office all big-eyed and intimidated by his legal jargon. Not this time.
‘Mr. Benby, we are both being paid to be here. We can pretend you are better than me, but why waste our time?’
His eyes narrow dangerously.
Ah, I have offended him. Good.
His movements are sharp and jerky as he opens the contract on his desk to the required page, puts a black and gold fountain pen on top of that page, and pushes the whole shebang towards my end of the desk. Truth is we both know that I don’t have to be here. The contract I have already signed is for life. Of course, he can’t figure out why I am here, I see that in his speculative eyes, but I know exactly why I am here.
This is part of my humiliation.
I take the pen. It is cool and smooth in my fingers. I unscrew the cap, sign and date the document, then push it back towards him.
‘Are we done here?’
He nods stiffly, his anger very firmly held in check. I am Blake Law Barrington’s woman, at least for the next 42 days. Untouchable. I turn around and leave.
A small Boots paper bag is sitting in the back seat of the Bentley. I thank Tom , stuff the contraceptives into my rucksack and turn my head to look out of the window. London has a different air from Kilburn. Less desperation, more bustle. The people are different too. They haven’t given up. They still believe in their pursuit. It makes their eyes hard. The way all city people’s eyes are. I press my hand to my stomach. I am nervous. I don’t know what tonight will be like. So far it seems as if Blake has recreated the day of our first night together. Our first night together still burns in my memory. I replay it in my mind and it causes my thighs to clench together with a mixture of excitement and anticipation.
This time, I think, I will hold my own.
Fleur is waiting in the reception area for me. She walks towards me, smiling, polished and elegant, exactly as I remember her. She embraces me warmly. Then she holds me away from her and says, ‘It is wonderful to see you again, but you have become so thin. Have you been all right?’
Suddenly I want to cry. I couldn’t cry at all for weeks, but since yesterday the smallest acts of kindness make me want to bawl my eyes out. I bite my lip and blink back the tears.
For a moment Fleur registers an expression of surprise, but she is not a PR executive for nothing. She smiles brightly and making a crook out of her left arm invites me to slip mine through hers. We walk together out of the glass doors. ‘Shall we start with some cosmetics?’
‘I don’t need new cosmetics, Fleur. I’ve hardly used the stuff you got me the last time. Not much call for it in Iran.’
She turns her face towards me. ‘It is bad enough that women have to put chemicals on their faces, at least let it not be old and toxic. Six months is the maximum that you should keep your cosmetics once opened,’ she says firmly, as we exit into the weak sunlight.
We get my cosmetics on the ground floor of Harvey Nichols. Besides the nudes and soft pinks Fleur picks out a scarlet lipstick. ‘I am informed that you will be going to the opera. This will be perfect for the black dress I have in mind.’ She passes a credit card over to the sales assistant and turns to me. ‘Have you been to the opera before?’
I shake my head.
Fleur smiles. ‘Well, then it will be a new and wonderful experience for you.’
We get into the lift.
‘There is a dress here which you absolutely must try on. It is a dream.’
We are passing a glass showcase when Fleur stops so suddenly I slam into her. Grabbing my hand she yanks me down into a crouched position with her. I stare at her without comprehension as we hunker down behind the showcase. She puts her finger to her lips, smiles weakly and to her credit manages an insouciant shrug.
My first thought is that she has spotted someone she wants to avoid, but the next moment I hear a snooty accent ask, ‘Don’t you have it in cerise?’ An icy claw of horror clutches my stomach. I must have paled or looked scared because Fleur’s fingers tighten on my hand and her eyes shoot out a silent, but clear warning to make no sound.
I swallow hard.
The voice is saying something else I do not catch, but it is moving away. Fleur tugs at my hand and starts crawling away. If I was not so shaken it would have been funny. Both of us on our hands and knees in Harvey Nichols! Once when Billie had come barefoot here in the height of summer security had her forcibly ejected. But Fleur is not just anyone. Fleur represents big business, repeat business.
A matronly woman looks at us with widened, disapproving eyes, but then she recognizes Fleur who gives her a small wave. She nods almost imperceptibly and stares ahead. As soon as we reach the end of the long showcase Fleur stands and, pulling me with her, walks quickly out of the department. We go down the stairs and exit the store. Outside Fleur doesn’t wait for Tom, but hails a black cab. We get into it and she tells the driver to take us to Kings Road.
Then she sends a text message to Tom to meet us there and turns to me.
‘I’m really sorry about that, but it is better that we did not meet her. I take it you know her?’
My hands are trembling. I nod. I am in a state of extreme shock. Of all the millions of people in London I could have to run into, why her? And on the first day of my contract. I understand it to be a bad omen, a warning that I am making a horrible mistake.
Fleur’s beautifully manicured hand grasps mine. ‘Don’t worry about it. It was just bad luck. We will shop in Kings Road instead. There are wonderful places there too. In fact, sometimes I think I prefer it.’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t want to shop anymore, Fleur. I just want to go home.’
Fleur’s eyes change. I see pure determination shining between her extravagant lashes. This is a woman who will not allow anything to stand in her way. I start to admire her anew. She is resilient in a way that I am not.
‘You can’t go home, Lana. You are committed to this day. We have appointments that we must keep. Victoria is not as powerful as you or she believes. She cannot take away from you that which is really yours.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask shakily. I am actually filled with fear. I have lost so much. All I have left is Sorab and if I am careless in any way at all he will disappear like a mirage in the desert.
‘My position does not allow me to say, but do not underestimate Blake Law Barrington. He could surprise you yet. Besides, don’t you think that women who blame the other woman are stupid? The other woman owes them no allegiance. Look to your own man. He is the one who has betrayed you. Get angry with him, if you dare.’
I nod. Fleur is right. I have done nothing wrong. I kept to my agreement. I left the country for a year. I did not approach Blake. He came looking for me.
‘Good,’ Fleur says with an encouraging smile. ‘Here is what we will do. We will go to my friend’s boutique and find something for you to wear tonight and tomorrow I will have some clothes that I think will be perfect for you sent to your apartment? And you can choose what you want and return the rest, OK?’
‘OK.’
‘I will reschedule your hairdresser’s appointment and Laura will push all the other appointments up accordingly.’
In a daze I hear her call the celebrity hairdresser and effortlessly get him to come into the salon four hours earlier than scheduled. People bent backwards to accommodate a Barrington’s needs. After that she calls Laura.
‘Slight change of plans,’ she says. ‘Mmnn. Tell you about it later. We are going to the hairdresser’s at 1:00 pm. Push all the other appointments up accordingly.’ A pause while she listens and then she says, ‘Right. That’s fine with me. Speak later.’ She turns to me. ‘All right?’
‘All right.’
‘Lunch first?’
I am not hungry, but I nod unhappily.
She takes a deep breath. ‘If you promise you will never tell anyone what I am about to reveal to you then I will tell you a secret.’
I promise quickly.
‘It is very important that you do not tell anyone, especially Blake, or you could drop both Laura and me into some extremely foul smelling stuff.’
‘I won’t tell anyone. Especially Blake.’
‘You are more important to Blake than you think. Sometime after he met you last year, when he was about to go into an important meeting, he called over his shoulder and told Laura to hold all his calls. But then he turned around and said, “except for Lana”.’
‘Laura was very surprised by the request. You see, never before had he given her such an instruction. Not even for his father or brother. “Is that for just this meeting or for all day,” she asked. “Until I tell you otherwise.” But here is the most surprising thing of all: Blake Barrington has never told her otherwise.’
The first thought in my mind. That was before.
‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking that is because he has forgotten. Blake never forgets anything. Not even the smallest details.’
I nod. Perhaps he did care. Perhaps he will learn to care again.
‘I did not want us to meet Victoria not because I am afraid of her, but because I think it is unnecessary. It is unnecessary for you and unnecessary for her. She has overestimated her importance; you have underestimated yours. Be confident. Things are not always what they seem.’
A business call comes through for Fleur. She asks if I mind her taking it. I say no and spend my time looking at the shoppers on the street, my stomach rolling with anxiety.
The car comes to a stop outside a brightly painted corner shop called Bijou.
Fleur pushes open an old-fashioned door and a quaint bell tinkles. A waft of carpet deodorant rushes out to greet us. The small shop is so crammed with clothes, jewelry, hats, bags and shoes and so different from the usual pared down designer shop that Fleur usually takes me to that I actually have the impression of having stumbled into Aladdin’s secret cave.
A well-preserved small woman of indeterminate age stands from behind an ornate desk and comes forward to greet and air kiss Fleur on both her cheeks. Her laughter is a sophisticated, heavy smoker’s rasp. She has that sort of European chic that comes from teaming box jackets in bold colors with numerous ropes of pearls.
I am presented to Rêgine.
She smiles at me, gives me the once-over, and bustles Fleur and me towards a couple of red velvet chairs. When we are seated, she turns the sign on the door to closed and begins running around her overcrowded shop humming to herself. She comes back with three different outfits.
‘Try that one first,’ suggests Fleur pointing to a fabulous knee-length white dress with a high mandarin collar, three jeweled cut-outs in the shape of leaves in the chest and slits up the thighs. I take it from Madame. The material is the softest wool.
‘Only girls with very slim arms can wear the cheongsam,’ says Fleur.
‘Qui,’ agrees Madame Rêgine.
I go behind a heavy velvet curtain, where there are three full-length mirrors. We have no long mirrors at home. Billie goes to Marks and Spencer’s changing rooms to see herself nude. I strip down to my undies. I can see that I am too skinny. My ribs and hip bones are showing. Not a good look. I used to look better before. Immediately I begin to worry if I will please Blake. I remember how attracted to my body he was. How he used to tell me to take my clothes off, and watch me. Simply watch me with hungry, fascinated eyes as if I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. What if my body no longer excites him?
‘Hey, we want to see,’ calls Fleur with a laugh.
‘Coming,’ I say, and slip into the dress. I zip up and stare at my reflection. Wow! I cannot believe how well the dress flatters me. It makes me look like I have curves. I turn my head to look at my side—the slit that comes to mid-thigh is at once subtle and sexy. Feeling reassured, I pull back the curtain.
‘Magnifique!' sighs the throaty voice.
Fleur grins like a Cheshire cat. ‘You look beautiful, Lana,’ she says and I know that she is being sincere.
‘But wait… I have the perfect shoes,’ calls Madame, and rushes off to the back of the shop.
She returns with a pair of shoes that are encrusted with similar stones as the ones that edge the leaf-shaped holes in my chest. They are like Cinderella’s glass slippers. Only the right girl can fit into them. I take them from her and step into them. The shoes fit perfectly—she must have an excellent eye.
The powdered face smiles cunningly. ‘Aaa…but wait…. You must have your hair up.’
She plucks from a large vase three jeweled pins and expertly holding my hair up inserts the pins into it. The European madam, whose age I am slowly having to revise upwards, claps her hands and declares with finality that it is, 'Absolument fabuleux.’
I look into the mirror and I have to agree. Absolutely fabulous. The dress is truly amazing. I have never felt so glamorous or sexy in my entire life. I look at Fleur and she is smiling.
‘No one can take what is truly yours away from you,’ she says, and I smile.
We come out of Bijou and Tom is waiting for us. He puts all our packages into the boot and takes us to the celebrity hairdresser.
‘You let your fringe grow out,’ Bruce the celebrity hairdresser accuses.
‘I was living in Iran. Women are not allowed to show their hair in public. It was easier to let it grow and pull it all back into a bun and throw a scarf over my head,’ I explain.
‘Ah, that takes excellent care of my next “have you been anywhere nice?’ question.’
I laugh. I like him. He’s a rare one, a tough guy hairdresser with a good British sense of humor. And he has a strong determined jaw and eyes that are subtle, but surely undressing me. If I am not totally in love with Blake I could fancy him.
‘But honestly,’ he continues, ‘what the devil possessed you to go live in that godforsaken country?’
‘My mother hails from there.’
‘Ah! I hear it has very beautiful tiled baths.’
‘It has.’
He puts a hand out and touches my cheekbones. ‘You have lost weight. A fringe alone will be too harsh. I will feather your hair from your mouth onwards to return that lost softness.’
And he does.
Fleur gives the jeweled pins to the girl who takes over the job of drying my hair and instructs the girl to put my hair up. ‘But no hairspray,’ she says and winks at me. ‘Men don’t like hard hair.’
The girl is finished and I am a marvelously different.
It is also time for Fleur to say goodbye. I feel almost tearful. She is the only one who seems to be on my side, rooting for me. She kisses me on the cheeks. ‘All will be well. Just be yourself and nothing can be more beautiful.’
Back at the waxing salon I learn that Rosa has moved back to Spain. A stout German woman with reddened hands and nails bitten to the quick takes me into the treatment room. There is no talk about jam sandwiches consumed in front of the TV or a clever son who is in art school, only a silent, ruthless dedication to bald skin. Gertrude strips every single hair from my body. When I am all over a sharp shade of red and the last offensive hair is gone she heaves a large of sigh of satisfaction. Unlike Rosa she does not offer to do my eyebrows for free. That was from another time. When life was generous to me.
My nails are too short for a French manicure. The girl asks me if I would like acrylic nails and for a moment I am tempted—I have never had them and they seem rather fun—but then I think of accidentally scratching Sorab’s tender skin while I am changing his nappy and I refuse. She waves towards a shelf full of nail varnish.
‘Choose your color.’
‘White,’ I say. ‘I will have the white nail polish.’
In the car I admire my nails, how pretty and clean they look. ‘Tom,’ I say. ‘If you give me the key to the apartment you can drop me off at my place, and I’ll take a cab later to the apartment.’
‘Oh no, Miss Bloom that would be more than my job’s worth. I got an ear bashing for dropping you off at the shops the last time. I can take you to your place and wait downstairs until you are ready to go to the apartment.’
He drops me off at the entrance and parks by the dark staircase to wait for my return.
