Текст книги "Wounded Beast"

Автор книги: Georgia Le Carre

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TWELVE

She opens the door and my eyes widen.

I told my secretary, ‘A red dress with a slit at the back.’

‘How much do you want to spend?’ she asked.

‘Get her something spectacular that I’ll enjoy taking off,’ I said, and I never gave it a second thought after that. Until now!

Spectacular would be an understatement. She looks fucking unreal!

An innocent, but almost secret smile slips onto her face, and suddenly, for just a sliver of time, the past becomes the present. It is as if I have known her forever. Something in my gut catches, and I grab the tax investigator’s hand and yank her hard. She tumbles into my arms in a delectable rush of soft flesh, blonde curls, and rising perfume.

Our bodies touching from chest to thigh, I curl my fingers into her silky hair and crush her mouth under mine. It parts. She tastes of chocolate. I plunder, I brand, I claim. Mine. This one’s mine. Blood pounds into my dick. I want to walk her backwards into her flat, push her up against the wall, and shove my hard, hungry cock into her like on that first night.

I pull my mouth away, furious with my own lack of control.

She blinks up at me, dazed, panting, her spine tense. ‘What’s the matter?’ she whispers.

I say the first thing that comes into my head. ‘You taste of chocolate.’

‘And that’s a … bad thing?’

‘Ella …’ I begin, but there’s nothing to say. I can’t promise her anything. Give her anything. There is nothing for sweet Ella. Just these crazy moments until they, too, are gone. I shake my head. ‘We’ll be late. Let’s go.’

She backs away from me. Her eyes are confused and hurt. ‘Where are we going?’ Her voice is pseudo breezy.

‘My mate Justin is having a party.’ My voice is distant. I hate the way it sounds, but it’s too late to take it back.

She nods. ‘That’ll be nice.’

‘You look beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ she says sadly.

I’m fucking lame, I am.

I don’t allow that strange ‘episode’ to spoil my night. I’ve always known that something is wrong, but I also know that it is neither of our faults. I’ll just live for the moment, and let the future take care of itself.

The party is already in full swing when we arrive. Dom parks the car, and we walk toward the house. He doesn’t hold my hand, or anything like that, but he keeps my body close to his so that it’s clear to anybody looking that I’m with him.

The smell of a barbecue is coming from the garden, and Justin’s living room has been turned into a giant disco with flashing lights. As we enter the room the DJ spins ‘Feel This Moment’ by Pitbull and Christina Aguilera, and it’s as if they’re singing to me.

‘Ask for money and get advice,’ Pitbull raps.

I turn toward Dom. ‘I love Pitbull.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. You wanna dance?’ I ask.

He looks down at me and suddenly grins. ‘Why the fuck not?’

He pulls me to the middle of the floor, and, man, can he jive. I look into his sexy eyes and just for that moment I’m the luckiest girl alive. I laugh, feeling so happy. Oh, if only this moment could last and last …

Justin is wearing a thick gold chain with a medallion and his shirt open down to his waist, and a couple of gangsta type gold rings, but he’s cool. He raises his eyebrow at me. ‘Now, why didn’t I think of that?’ he says. ‘Wanna reduce your tax bill? Just get yourself a hot tax collector girlfriend!’

I just smile. This is a thin ice lake he’s trying to get me to skate on.

‘So, how much of a rebate are you givin’ him?’

I shrug. ‘Nothing.’

‘Why not?’

‘Tax cheats annoy her,’ Dom says dryly.

‘No kidding? Why?’

I shrug casually. ‘I don’t know. I guess it started when I was a kid. Some of the women on the estate sold Avon cosmetics in their spare time and never bothered to declare their earnings, so they always had extra to spend on nice things, and my mum and dad had everything taxed at source so we never, ever had enough.’

‘Shouldn’t that have made you decide to become an Avon lady?’ Justin asks with a humorless laugh.

I search desperately for some kind of argument that will justify my views, but I can’t find one, because within Justin’s little joke gleams the real truth. A thing that has been polished by years of denial. My views about taxes have been shaped almost entirely by resentment and jealousy. I was jealous because my friends’ mothers could afford better things for their families, and my mum couldn’t.

Now, when I think about it, I realize, ‘Good luck to them.’ It wasn’t as though they walked away with millions. They were just trying to make their families’ lives a little better. If the government can afford a trillion to bail out banks, the little amounts they ferreted away couldn’t have made any difference at all.

Unexpectedly, Dom comes to my rescue. He slips his hand around my waist. ‘Ella couldn’t be an Avon lady because she embodies a life of simple dignity, sacrifice and service.’

I stare at him, surprised.

Dom’s cheeks slowly start to expand with a warm, radiant smile.

And I let out a long, inward sigh. He understands me.

Afterwards, we drink lots of cocktails, dance, and watch a fire-eater perform while we eat grilled jumbo prawns with a lime and garlic dressing. It’s late when a fantastically handsome guy turns up. The photos I’ve seen of him on the net haven’t done him a shred of justice. He’s obviously very popular with the girls, because immediately there’s a bevy of them around him. He looks over to us, catches my gaze, and a strange expression crosses his eyes. It passes in a flash. He comes up to us.

‘When did the Inland Revenue start hiring ex-beauty queens to collect their taxes for them?’ he asks with an irresistible sparkle in his laughing blue eyes.

Dom sighs heavily. ‘Ella, meet my brother, Shane. Shane, Ella Savage.’

I hold out my hand, but he grabs it, and, pulling me toward him, envelops me in a bear hug. I’m so startled by his infectious warmth that I burst out laughing. He holds me around my waist and whispers into my ear, ‘Has my brother managed to bring you over to the dark side?’

I giggle.

‘We have chocolates,’ he whispers darkly.

Dom reaches out, catches my wrist and tugs me firmly toward him. ‘Haven’t you got a bit of skirt you have to chase?’ he asks his brother.

‘Nope,’ Shane says, and helps himself to a prawn from my plate. I realize I really like him. He must be the life of every party. He’s such fun. As if on cue, a tanned blonde in a tight, hot-pink dress and seven-inch heels comes up to us.

‘Hey, Dom,’ she greets politely, smiles at me uninterestedly, and then bats her eyelashes at Shane. ‘You said I could have the first dance.’

‘And I meant it,’ he says, and, taking her hand, leads her towards the music. A few steps away he stops and turns back to me. ‘You should come for lunch tomorrow. My ma makes a wicked Sunday lunch.’ Then he’s pulled away by the blonde. His departure leaves the air around us tense.

I sneak a look at Dom, and he’s staring at me, his eyes wiped of all expression. ‘Yeah, maybe you should come. Meet the rest of the family.’

‘Maybe it’s too early,’ I say, giving him a chance to back out.

His eyes twinkle. ‘We’re gypsies, Ella. We’re not subtle, and we don’t do tact. We say what we mean, and we do what we say.’

I chew on my lip. ‘Maybe we should wait until after Monday. Your family might hate me after my meeting with your accountant.’

‘I don’t care what happens on Monday. I could be dead by Monday,’ he says flatly.

Before I can answer, there’s the sound of a loud crash. Both of us turn to look. From where we’re standing, I see Justin pointing his finger and arguing loudly with someone whose body language is just as aggressive. Beside him, on the patio floor, is an overturned chair.

‘Shit, the Barberry brothers,’ Dom says, jumping to his feet. ‘Come on,’ he urges and we walk quickly toward the brewing quarrel. The men are arguing bitterly, their aggression quickly filling the air with tension. I can’t properly make out what they are fighting about with all the onlookers shouting at the same time. As we arrive, it transpires that one of the Barberry brothers has insulted one of Justin’s mates.

‘I’ll fucking kill you,’ Justin is shouting to the Barberry brother who’s supposed to have thrown the insult. There are four of them, and they all look as though they’re spoiling for a fight.

Dom looks at me. ‘Stay here,’ he orders, and he strides toward the men.

I can see that the situation is quickly getting out of hand. And sure enough, seconds later someone throws a punch, and then it’s a free-for-all. Everyone’s swinging punches, chairs are being smashed, and more men are joining the melee. I stare at them in disbelief. I’ve never been to a party that’s erupted into a steaming fight before. And it’s a proper brawl, as well.

From the corner of my eye I see Shane wading in, coming to his brother’s rescue. Not that Dom seems to be needing any help. He’s roaring and going for it like a mad man. It’s incredible how this party has disintegrated into this mess in the space of just a few seconds.

To my surprise, the other partygoers aren’t trying to intervene and stop the fight, but are either watching it as though it’s part of the entertainment, or clapping and cheering on Justin and the Eden brothers against the Barberrys. There are four Barberry brothers against three, which seems unfair to me.

I see one of the Barberry brothers try to sneak in behind Dom and punch him from the back. Without thinking, moving purely on instinct, I pick up a wine bottle and, rushing forward, smash it over his head. There’s a loud clunk. The man turns back with a growl and sinks slowly to the ground.

Ooops! In the movies, bottles that come into violent contact with human heads always shatter to smithereens. I look up from his prone body and meet Dom’s eyes. There’s a trickle of blood coming from his eyebrow, and he’s staring at me with his mouth slightly open. I drop the bottle.

‘He was going to hit you from the back. And that would have been unfair,’ I say mechanically.

He grins suddenly, and it’s like the sun has come out from behind a dark cloud.

‘Behind you!’ I scream.

Dom whirls around in time to face another fierce-looking Barberry brother. With my hand over my mouth, I watch Dom lay into him. As the man clutches his side and stumbles away, Shane walks up to Dom. The left side of his face is swollen.

‘You OK?’ he asks, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to turn up for a party and get into a massive punch-up.

‘Yeah. You?’

He smiles. ‘Always.’

Justin comes up to them and claps them both on the back in an almost congratulatory manner. He’s laughing. This is normal for them! Dom leaves them and comes up to me. His eyes are dark and devouring. He looks at me as if I’m … hmm … well, food.

He grabs my hand and starts pulling me away. I run to keep up with his long strides.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask breathlessly.

‘Somewhere I can ravish you.’

I grin. ‘Dom, do you think he’ll be all right?’

‘Who?’

‘The guy I hit with the bottle.’

‘Are you kidding? It’s gonna take far more than a bottle to down a Barberry boy,’ he says.

And I laugh.

And so does he, as we run to the car.

We climb into it in a rush, and, like children who have been promised a trip to the ice cream parlor, we can hardly sit still with excitement. I smile a secret smile. It’s clear that the rush of adrenalin and testosterone has fueled his sexual appetite and I’m going to reap the benefit. Dom drives us to a quiet country lane. And there, under a half-moon, he lays me across the back seat and buries himself all the way inside me in one hard slam, then works it until we’re both an exhausted, satisfied, beautiful, sweaty mess. He reaches below, finds his trousers, rummages in one of the pockets and produces a gold bracelet.

‘Here,’ he says and capturing my hand fixes it on my wrist.

I bite my lip.

‘What?’ he asks.

‘Did you steal it or something?’ I ask with a grin.

‘Why would you think that?’

‘I don’t know. Bracelets usually come in a box.’

‘I can get you a box if you want.’

I shake my head slightly and gently touch the jewels on the pretty bracelet.

‘Sapphires,’ he says.

It’s not big or flash and there is no great declaration that he bought them because they match my eyes or anything romantic like that, but I almost want to cry with happiness.

‘It’s beautiful. Thank you,’ I choke

‘You’re welcome. Wear it all the time,’ he says casually.

And my heart soars. ‘I will.’

For a long time, we lie naked and as precious as the stars shining brightly in the night sky.

THIRTEEN

‘You wouldn’t have any sisters for me, would you?’ Shane teases Ella, a seductive smile spread across his face.

We’re at my ma’s for Sunday lunch. I don’t know what I expected when I sprang Ella, the tax collector, on my family, but they’ve surprised me with the genuine warmth of their welcome. Never once has she been made to feel that anything might be amiss. Of course, Shane has to make a bigger ass of himself than usual.

‘Afraid not,’ Ella says with a grin. ‘But I do have a brother if you’re interested.’

‘Ah, I’ll let you know if I start batting for the other side,’ Shane says with a laugh.

I know Shane’s banter means nothing, but what the fuck! I feel jealousy pour through me. I place my hand possessively on her curvaceous bottom and throw my younger brother a ‘back the hell off’ glare.

With a brotherly pat on my shoulder and a mischievous glint in his eyes, he moves away.

Ella goes to join the women in the kitchen, and Jake comes over to me.

‘So, that’s Ella Savage,’ he says quietly, a strange look in his eyes.

‘Yeah,’ I reply, my tone neutral but forbidding any further intrusions.

‘She’s beautiful.’

‘I know.’

He raises his glass. ‘Here’s to you.’ And for a moment there’s a tinge of sadness in his face. Then Shane joins us.

‘Hoi,’ he says. ‘What are you guys drinking to?’

‘To Dom,’ Jake says simply.

Shane grins wolfishly. ‘And the very gorgeous Ella.’

I stare at him warningly, even though I know he’s only yanking my chain. We all raise our glasses and drink. And I wonder if it has been a mistake to bring Ella to meet my family. They’re ready for her, but I’m not.

I love Dom’s family. And I don’t say that facetiously. They’re so kind, and I can feel how genuine their welcome is in every word and gesture. I especially warm to Layla. A laughing woman-child, she’s the baby of the family. She throws her arms around me and kisses my cheeks as though we’re long-lost sisters. It’s immediately obvious that everyone loves her to death and is very protective of her.

Her husband, BJ, is another matter, though. He’s the largest man I’ve ever met, with a hugely muscled chest and bulging arms. His eyes are so black it’s impossible to know what he’s thinking. He doesn’t say much—his entire world seems to be made of his wife and their little boy. A highly energetic little thing who crawls around at frightening speed.

Jake, Dom’s oldest brother, is the most mysterious of them all. I wouldn’t want to mess with him. It seems as if he regards all the people gathered in that house as his personal responsibility. Almost as if he’s the alpha and this is his pack. His wife, Lily, is exotically beautiful and friendly, but not overly so. She’s more reserved. His daughter is precocious, a cute little sweetheart whom I instantly fall in love with. We get on like a house on fire. Considering she’s just three years old, I consider that a great victory.

I get a more muted reception from Dom’s mum: outwardly kind and friendly, but sometimes I catch her looking at me warily. I guess I can’t blame her. I’m the dreaded tax investigator. In some ways their kindness makes me feel like an impostor. Someone who’s come to hurt one of them while enjoying their hospitality.

Shane was right—his mother’s roast is wicked!

And thanks to Shane and Layla, lunch is a great laugh. I look at Dom, and realize I’ve never seen him as relaxed as he is with his family. He catches my eyes and smiles at me. A real, genuine smile.

After the meal, I join the women in the kitchen. Layla opens the freezer and brings out a tub of gin and tonic ice cream.

She looks at me and shakes her head. ‘When I was pregnant I never had any cravings because I was so worried about my baby, but since I gave birth, I can’t stop eating this stuff. I have it made specially. It’s really delicious. Want some?’

‘Uh, no,’ I refuse politely.

‘Just have a little taste,’ she insists, coming to me with the spoon.

‘No, really. I couldn’t. I’m so full.’

‘OK. But if you change your mind, I keep a tub in Dom’s house, too,’ she offers with a smile.

‘Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.’

While Layla stuffs the spoon of ice cream into her mouth, Lily pops her head behind Layla’s and shakes it as if warning me never to try Layla’s ice cream. Hiding a smile, I turn to Dom’s mother. ‘Can I do anything to help, Mrs. Eden?’

‘No, child. Everything’s already done. We all just come in here so my daughter can eat her ice cream.’ She looks out of the window and then back at me. ‘It’s such a beautiful afternoon, I think we’ll have coffee out on the terrace.’

I smile at her. How lucky this family is. I think of my poor parents stuck in their dark, poky flat and feel a little sad for them. And then Rob is in my head, saying how life is unfair. One child born with a golden spoon in its mouth, and another born starving.

‘I really liked your family,’ I tell Dom as we make our way back to London.

He glances at me. ‘Yeah, I think they really liked you too.’

‘I especially liked Layla. She’s so sweet and childlike.’

‘Hmm … Don’t be fooled. Underneath all that sweetness are nerves and determination made of solid steel.’

‘Really?’

‘Absolutely. She’s very special.’

‘You’re really lucky to have them all.’

He doesn’t turn to look at me. ‘I know.’

There’s silence for a few seconds, then he says, ‘You never talk about your family.’

‘I didn’t think you’d be interested.’

His head swings around. ‘Tell me about them.’

‘Well, we’re four: my parents, my brother and me. My parents live in London. My father took early retirement because he’s plagued by all kinds of diseases, and my mother’s his full-time caregiver. My brother’s just graduated from uni and is now traveling around Asia with his girlfriend.’

He nods. ‘Are you a close family?’

‘I’m close to my parents, but my brother and I don’t get on.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t like the way he treats Mum and Dad. They have so little, and he’s constantly asking them for money.’

‘Do they survive on their pension alone?’

‘Not really. I help them with bits and pieces, groceries and stuff.’

His eyes swivel around. ‘On your salary?’

I shrug. ‘I manage.’

And again he looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time.

FOURTEEN

I have exactly three opportunities to trip up Nigel Broadstreet. Not because he sucks at his job—at full flow he is brilliant in a totally slippery way—but because of the things I have seen and heard while I’ve been with Dom.

However, I don’t take them.

I just sit back and let Rob get more and more frustrated and lose more and more ground while Nigel puts forth more and more ‘evidence’ to support his claim that it was all an honest clerical mistake. No matter what Rob says or does, Nigel is impossible to faze. He is as cool as someone on a deckchair on the Titanic the day before the disaster, who had a helicopter ride off the ship that evening. Smooth. Confident. Secure. Unshakeable.

Watching Nigel in action isn’t like watching a cheetah kill. There’s no dazzling speed, claws, teeth, clouds of disturbed dust, or flying fur. It’s more like watching a python wrapped around a goat. Every time the goat exhales, the python squeezes tighter until the last breath is gone. At which point the python, at its own leisure, swallows the goat whole.

As we leave the restaurant I pretend to be disappointed with the outcome even though I’m actually feeling very satisfied. It is rare that someone gets the better of Rob, and he’s such a jumped-up, pompous ass that the pathetic side of me quite secretly enjoys seeing him brought down a peg.

In the car he fumes impotently. ‘I hate these oily bastards. I’d love to investigate his accountancy firm. I’m sure there are more than a few skeletons rattling in there.’

Wisely, I say nothing.

As soon as I’m out of Rob’s sight, I text Dom.

You might want to give your accountant a huge bonus this Christmas. X

I chat for a bit with the receptionist. She tells me her dog swallowed her ring so she has to dig through its poo with a stick. I make the appropriate noises of sympathy mixed with revulsion. When I leave her I take the lift upstairs and go straight to my desk.

I sit down and pull up the Integrated Compliance Environment (ICE) desktop interface. I bring up the original search request I made for Lady Marmalade. Scanning through the form, I notice that, under ‘Reason for Request and Any Additional Information’, I’ve input all his brothers as additional associated persons that I wanted researched. Even BJ’s name is there.

Leaning back, I gaze at the entry.

Every name on the list means something to me now. They’re real people. They live, they breathe, they have hopes and dreams, they love their families, and they hurt when I go after them. I remember how emotionlessly I had compiled the list. How proud I used to be of the impressive responsibility I had, to make a decision on whether to challenge a declared tax return, and at what level that challenge should be made. How powerful it used to make me feel.

I was a different person then.

My mobile pings. I pick it up and look at it.

Want to celebrate with me?

I type back:

Obviously.

The answering ping is immediate.

Pick you up at 6. Wear a bikini under your clothes. Or don’t.

Still smiling, I click out of the form and pull up the ICE Feedback Form. I complete it and click ‘Send Form’. There. Case closed.

I sit for a while with my hands in my lap and then I open a fresh Word document and begin to type into it.

We drive out to his country house, which takes us about two hours. We turn off a main road and drive for another couple of minutes on a much narrower country lane before we come upon a rather nondescript steel gate, which he opens with the touch of a button on his key fob.

We then travel through about a mile of woods, which Dom tells me he has turned into a bee, bird and deer sanctuary. And as we drive slowly through, I start to see colorful birds everywhere.

‘Oh my God,’ I cry with delight, when Dom points out two sweet little deer hidden among the trees They do not scamper away, even at the monstrous sound of the V8 engine, but they gaze back at us, their large, moist eyes totally unafraid.

‘Are they tame enough to be petted?’ I ask, turning my head to stare at them.

‘They come up to the house looking for food in the mornings. You can hand feed them then.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really,’ he says and there is an indulgent look in his eyes. He obviously cares very much for his deer.

The sun is setting, but the air is still deliciously warm, and I’m almost struck dumb by the unspoilt beauty of the woods, and the thought that one man owns all this while people like me cannot even afford to buy a matchbox apartment. But I don’t think these thoughts with the resentment I would have felt in the past. Instead, it is with a confused sadness. Is the world really just an unfair place where people have been arbitrarily made poor or rich by the accident of their birth? And does that mean that there is nothing I can do to make it a better place?

As we drive up to the house, I have to gasp. It is so beautiful. With two stately stone pillars and a frontage utterly covered in ivy, it is like an enchanted mansion straight out of a fairy tale.

Dom turns to me. ‘Like it?’

‘Like it? Dom, it’s absolutely fabulous,’ I enthuse. I turn to him. ‘Does it remain empty while you are in London?’

‘No, I have a housekeeper, and her husband doubles as the gardener. They stay the nights in the house when I’m not around, but when I’m here they live in that lodge there.’ He points to a small cottage covered in wisteria and climbing roses. Nothing could be more English than that pretty little country home.

‘Right,’ I say, my eyes going back to the dreamy main house.

Dom parks the car and we cross the gravel and go up the stone steps. He pushes open the beautiful old doors.

‘Don’t you lock your doors?’ I ask, surprised.

‘Only in London.’

Inside are powder blue walls with white trims, gleaming oak floors, palladium windows with beautiful window seats, and a charming mixture of antique furniture and pastel furnishings. It is airy and elegant. There’s a wingback chair next to a bay window and a book on a little round table next to it. I can almost see myself sitting in that chair reading and leaving the book there on the table.

I turn away from the sight. Disturbed. Why, I care not to think about.

He takes me through to a dining room with gold damask wallpaper and black and white curtains. It leads on to a large, shabby-chic style French kitchen with sandstone tiles. There’s a cute breakfast table in a sunny corner.

‘Want a drink?’ he asks.

‘I’ll have some tea.’

He fills a kettle and sticks it on.

I sit on one of the chairs by the counter. ‘Dom, I need to ask you a question. It’s rather important to me, so please answer it as honestly as you can.’

He leans his hip against the island and glances at me warily. ‘OK.’

‘You think you shouldn’t pay tax because the very richest are not paying theirs. But what would happen if everybody did that?’

He looks at me seriously. ‘I wish everybody wouldn’t pay. That would make this entire corrupt merry-go-round grind to a sudden halt. They can’t imprison everybody and we’d then have to come up with something different. Not this corrupt system that has slowly concentrated half the world’s wealth into the hands of one percent of the population and allowed eighty-five fucking people to amass as much as three and a half billion people combined!’

He pauses to let his words sink into my psyche.

Is he serious? My mind boggles. ‘Eighty-five individuals own half the world’s wealth! How is that even possible?’

‘Not only is it possible, but the study concluded that soon the wealthiest one percent will own more than the rest of the world’s population put together!’

I nibble the pad of my right thumb and reflect on his claim. It doesn’t sound right. Too unbelievable. ‘Where are you getting your figures from?’

He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. ‘It’s public information, Ella. You can find it on the websites of the BBC, or Forbes, or the New York Times, or anywhere really.’

I scowl. How can this information be public knowledge and there still be programs on TV like Benefit Street where the poorest, neediest people are put to shame because they receive pitifully meager handouts from the government?

At that moment it occurs to me that not only have I watched these programs myself, but that I, too, have been hoodwinked into despising those poor people while the real culprits remained invisible to my rage and condemnation. What a clever sleight of hand by the one percent indeed!

The kettle boils and he pushes himself away from the counter, drops a tea bag into a mug and fills it with hot water. He looks at me. ‘Milk? Sugar? Lemon?’

‘Black, two sugars,’ I say automatically.

He drops the cubes into the drink and brings the mug to me.

I smile up at him. ‘You made me tea.’

He frowns and seems surprised. ‘Actually, it’s my first time, too. I don’t believe I’ve ever made tea for anyone before.’

I put the mug down and reach into the purse slung across my body. ‘I want to show you something,’ I say. Unzipping it, I take out a folded piece of paper and give it to him. He takes it from me and unfolds it. I watch his eyes scan down my letter.

Then he looks up and smiles at me. It is a rich smile. ‘You know, when we’re at school, we’re really only taught one thing that the system considers important. Every school in the world has different curricula and different subjects, but all schools have this one agenda in common.’

‘What’s that?’ I ask curiously.

‘Schools tame children and teach them obedience.’

‘Obedience?’ I say slowly, tasting the word.

‘Obedience to the bell, the teacher, the rules, the grading system, the uniform, the time-keeping. It’s how the few control the many.’ He re-folds my letter. ‘This letter of resignation is your first act of disobedience. And for that I congratulate you.’

I look up at him, fascinated and intrigued. Never could I have imagined at first sight of this arrogant, cock-sure man that there was such hidden depth to him. ‘Will the system ever get changed, Dom?’

He shrugs. ‘I don’t know, Ella. It’s hard to fight it because it is us. We are the ones who are making this system work, with our apathy, our compliance, and our obedience.’ He smiles and shakes my letter at me. ‘But every time someone writes a letter like this, it gives me hope that one day, maybe not in my lifetime, but one day the world will be different.’

There’s a sound at the kitchen door, and a middle-aged woman comes through. She has badly dyed blonde hair and a big smile on her face.

‘Hello, Mr. Eden,’ she greets cheerfully.

‘Hey, Mrs. B. Come and say hello to Ella. Ella, this is my housekeeper, Mrs. Bienkowski.’

‘Hi, Mrs. B. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

Mrs. B turns out to be a warm, bustling character. As soon as Dom disappears into his study to make some calls, she takes me upstairs to a huge master bedroom with floral curtains, cream carpets, and a massive bed full of pillows. She shows me how everything in the bathroom works and then she asks if I have any allergies. I tell her no and she tells me dinner will be at eight.

That evening we set off on one of the walking trails. The air is clean and there’s no noise of traffic—only the sounds of birds in the trees. Everywhere there are feeding posts. A red squirrel races up a tree. At a water fountain a pair of courting pigeons are kissing and flirting with each other.

A feeling of peace like I’ve never experienced growing up and living in London steals into my body. I take large breaths of fresh air. We hardly speak because words are not necessary, and I think I’m too stunned by how much my life has changed. How much fuller and richer it is. How much I love him. There, I’ve said it. I love Dominic Eden.