Текст книги "Love's Sacrifice"

Автор книги: Georgia Le Carre

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 10 страниц)

Twelve

Victoria Jane Montgomery

That night I wait until it is late. I lie in my bed and watch the low-lying mist shroud the vast expanse of green outside this dreadful mad house until the phones by the nurses’ station have stopped ringing. Until there is no more noise other than the odd screaming that will suddenly pierce the night. Until the lone night nurse thinks everybody is asleep and she is busy watching porn on the Internet.

Then I get under the covers and shine the little torch my mother brought me on my musical box. It is an old antique. A ballerina in a lilac tutu. The tutu is almost gray now. I touch the delicately painted porcelain face. It belonged to my great grandmother and came directly from her to me. It did not pass my grandmother or mother so they do not know about the secret compartment it conceals at the bottom of the figurine.

Carefully, I depress the lever that opens it. So many years since I opened it. It is a little sticky and I pull it, but that just jams the drawer. I come out of the covers and look for something to pull it open with. A knife or anything sharp, but there is nothing sharp in the room or the bathroom. In frustration I bang the ballerina with the side of my fist. It still will not open. For some reason this infuriates me to unreasonable anger.

I guess that is what road rage is. Someone cuts you up and you react as if someone has raped your daughter. I throw the musical box against the wall. The sound of it shattering is almost a profanity.

For a moment I don’t move. I listen. No one comes. I walk toward the box. The drawer is open. I reach into it and take out the small, folded document inside.

I open it out and look at it in the light of the torch.

For a moment I remember, tangled with him, bonded skin to skin, sharing breath. The way Blake had felt deep inside me. Then I remember—that was not him. That was some other random man that crawled into my life at three a.m. Forget that.

This, this tiny piece of paper in my hand is my ticket out of here.

Blake Law Barrington, you’re about to get the shock of your life. You shouldn’t have double-crossed me.

Thirteen

Lana Barrington

It is during the end of the second act, when the Prince sings to Turandot, ‘You do not know my name. Tell me my name before sunrise, and at dawn, I will die.’

I turn away from the stage and look at Blake. His phone must have vibrated in his pocket, because he is checking the lighted screen. He smiles at me and leaves the box to take the call. It could have been anyone, calling about any number of urgent matters, but it is as if my heart already knows: the unthinkable has happened. For a moment I do nothing, simply sit terrified where I am, and listen to the cruel Turandot accept the Prince’s challenge.

By dawn he will be dead.

Then I stand and follow Blake out. As I open the door I see him terminating his call. His body is stiff and tense. When he looks up at me he looks ashen. I see his hands tremble as he puts his phone away. I stare at him aghast. I was right. The unthinkable has happened.

‘What’s happened? What is it?’ My voice sounds hollow and scared.

He starts walking toward me. ‘I’ve called Tom to pick us up. We have to go home now.’

Fear. Fear. Fear like I have never known coils around me, crushing me so hard, I can hardly take my next breath. I know what he is going to say. I know exactly what he is going to say. I realize I don’t want him to say the words. My head is shaking.

‘No, no,’ I whisper, and start backing away from him.

The second act is over, and all around us people in their finery are streaming out of their boxes, heading toward the restrooms and the bars. I take another backward step and collide with a man in a black suit. He steadies me with his hands. He has dirty blond eyebrows and concerned, muddy brown eyes.

‘Are you all right?’ he asks.

I gaze stupidly at him with my mouth hanging open.

Before my confused, frightened brain can even formulate a reply, Blake appears at my side and takes my arm. The other man drops his hands. He smiles oddly at me and with a nod to Blake leads the woman with him away. My mind reels and incongruously notes that her velvet dress has a tiny stain on the right sleeve. And yet she seems happy. She doesn’t have bad news waiting for her at home. Suddenly I feel nauseated. My fingers shake as they rush to cover my mouth.

‘We have to get home,’ Blake mutters. He leads me through the throng of people. The bar is crowded and the foyer seems suddenly very noisy. We get outside. I take a gulp of cool evening air and shiver. My shoulder curls up around my ears and my ribcage tightens to avoid breathing in the cold air.

‘You’re cold,’ Blake says.

‘I left my wrap in the box,’ I reply in a daze. As if it matters.

He takes off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders.

I snuggle into the living warmth of his body heat and put off for another second hearing what he has to say to me.

‘Sorab’s missing. Looks like he’s been taken.’

I nod. As if he had said to me, ‘Let’s have a drink before dinner.’ Fighting a sense of disbelief, I clutch his jacket lapels close together and glance away from him. There’s a beggar sitting on the theater steps. He has a mangy dog. It looks mournfully at me. Poor thing. Living on the streets, eating scraps. Someone’s taken my baby. I turn back to Blake.

‘How?’ My voice is surprisingly flat. Almost uninterested. I am conscious that my reaction is strange, to say the least. Perhaps I am in shock.

‘That’s what I intend to find out. Brian thinks it’s Ben.’

‘Ben?’ I repeat. My hands drop to my sides.

Blake nods. ‘He’s gone AWOL.’

‘He’s one of the new guys, isn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

I force the words out of my throat. ‘One of the men you hired because I asked you to,’ I whisper. My teeth have started chattering.

He pulls his jacket tightly around me and holds me close to his body. I register the heat instantly. He radiates it like a hot water bottle.

‘Stop it. It’s not your fault,’ he says into my hair. ‘Come. Tom’s here. We have to go.’

I turn in the direction he is looking in and see Tom stop the car. Tom doesn’t smile. He looks pale. Blake opens the door and I enter and sit down huddled inside his jacket. I can’t feel anything, but a numbing cold. I clasp my fingers together in my lap to stop them from shaking. Nothing feels real.

I try to remember Ben. Dark hair, generally unsmiling with caramel eyes, suspicious caramel eyes. But that means nothing. They are all like that.

‘Is it possible that Ben might have taken Sorab for a ride in his car…and just not told anyone?’ Even as I say it I know it could never have transpired like that.

Blake shakes his head slowly and squeezes my icy hands.

His thigh is close but not touching mine. I shift so it is touching me and that thin stretch of contact comforts me. I stare silently out of the window, not seeing a thing, and listen to him making phone calls.

‘Get the word out. I want to know who has my son.’

I place my palm on the cold glass pane. I’m so numb. Some of the one-sided conversation slips through the cold fog I am in: Something about seizing Ben’s phone records. Somebody has been to his place. Looking for clues. The phones are already tapped. A police inspector has been discreetly and unofficially contacted. Feelers are already out in the street. The disjointed thought in my numb brain: how fast these men move. As if they were expecting such a scenario. An ambulance, its siren turned off, but its lights flashing, passes us on its way to another tragedy.

I think of Sorab’s little face and a shudder goes through me. Where is he? He is not familiar with Ben. He will be so frightened. He will have to go to sleep without his favorite toy. He has never been to bed without clutching Sleepy Teddy. I think of him blinking up at me from my lap. The image is oddly painful.

And then a clear thought, so comforting: They will not hurt him. They just want money. Blake will give them whatever they ask. I know Blake has ties with the underworld and the mafia. Obviously, we will get our son back. Some part of me knows, of course, that I am probably deceiving myself, but at that moment that baseless belief comforts me tremendously. I lie back and close my eyes and don’t allow myself to think further than that. I just listen to the blood pounding steadily in my ears and concentrate on the feel of Blake’s thigh pressed into mine.

When I get home the nightmare becomes real. The dining room looks like a war office with listening equipment and gadgets I cannot recognize, and Geraldine looks at me with huge, frightened eyes.

‘I’m so sorry, Lana. I was only in the toilet for a minute,’ she says in a trembling voice.

Fourteen

Blake Law Barrington

Brian walks into the room and lowers himself into a chair and sits forward. He is sporting bronze stubble and looks uneasy. My senses flash a warning and adrenalin starts frothing into my veins. His eyes, always deliberately expressionless anyway, are flat and dead. I’ve known him a long time.

‘You’re not going to like this,’ he says.

A man like him is not prone to exaggeration. In fact, he is like a black hole sucking in all kinds of information and observations and never giving anything back. At his words a strange coldness invades my body. It is already so tense that it feels as if every nerve is screaming, but I force myself not to react.

‘We picked up the pings that came off the unidentified mobile phones that Ben was in contact with. We ran through every number on them for the last six months. One of the numbers was registered to a woman called Angel Levene. She works in the mental asylum Victoria is committed in. But here’s the real kicker. The one time it was used to call Ben’s number, the tower that served it was located close to the mental asylum.’

A chill goes through my body. I gape. ‘Victoria?’

Brian doesn’t say anything. A corner of his eye twitches. I never noticed that nervous tic in his cheek. I drop my eyes to the papers on my table and see a blur of white. You’re not going to like this. It has scared the shit out of me. I’m fucking terrified.

Fruitcake Victoria’s got my son? The implications are beyond anything I could have imagined.

For a long time after Brian leaves I do nothing. Simply stare out of the window. Shocked by how blissfully unaware I had been of the impending storm. Once, I would never have been caught so unprepared. I have changed. I’ve become soft. Then I get up and go to look for her. She is in the south facing reception room. She spends most of her time there now. The rest of the house seems so full of cold-eyed men. I can hear strains of Puccini’s Nessun Dorma as I get closer. It makes my hair stand on end.

Nobody shall sleep! Nobody shall sleep! Even you. O Princess.

I stand at the door and watch her, how still she is. When I move into the room, she catches the movement and starts rising to meet me, but she is seemingly so dazed she has to test the sole of her shoe on the floor before she puts her weigh on that foot.

We stand a few feet away from each other. I’ll never be able to listen to Turandot again without having this feeling that I am a falling glass, about to hit the tiles. About to shatter into a thousand pieces.

Fifteen

Lana Barrington

He stands at the door of the living room. He knows something. And it’s not good. I stand and look at him expectantly.

‘Victoria’s got him.’

Time stops. I freeze. He freezes. Then I am flying across the room to him—he catches me and holds me so tightly against his chest my feet lift off the ground. I begin to sob into his neck.

‘Don’t, my darling. Don’t cry, don’t,’ he whispers again and again, but I cannot stop. I want to blame someone, but there is no one to blame.

He gathers a fistful of my hair and pulls my face away from his neck and kisses me. His kiss is odd. It is as if with that kiss he wants to suck away my pain. There is no erection against my stomach. Even in my sorrow, I hate that. It feels wrong. Everything is wrong. I let the strange passionless kiss go on and on and then I break away and stare at him breathlessly.

‘But you said she is locked away in an asylum?’

‘She is.’

I frown. ‘Then how can she…? I don’t understand.’

‘Victoria is more resourceful than I gave her credit for.’

So there is someone I can blame. I can blame him. He is at fault. It is his fault that my baby is gone. At that moment I feel his separateness from me. My face twists at my own crazy thoughts. I pull myself back from that cliff edge. But even that one second of doubt and blame that I indulge in breaks something precious. I break ‘us’.

I see his face change and a look of such hurt and pain come into his eyes that I am immediately filled with regret. He has given me so much and asked for so little in return. My hands rush up to his neck and wrap themselves tightly around it.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, darling. I did not mean it. I love you. You’re the last person I want to hurt. I’m just so scared I don’t know what I’m saying.’

‘But you are right. It is my fault. You entrusted me with his safety. I have failed. I have let both of you down.’ His voice is scarily quiet. In all the time I have known him I have never heard it so. It feels as if he has walked away from me, for good. I pull back and stare at him. Could it be that what we had was nothing? That with one moment of mistrust he could walk away. That our great love cannot survive this tragedy.

He turns away from me, and my betrayal of him during his time of greatest need. I try to pull him back to me, but he is already striding away. I watch the door shut behind him with horror.

For some time I wait. His footsteps become fainter. I listen intently. Maybe he will realize and come back. Of course he will come. A whole minute passes. He’s not coming back. When I hear his car start outside, I sink to the floor and, holding onto my belly with both hands, sob—ugly wrenching wails that come from a place I did not know existed.

I did not feel this depth of loss even when I walked away from Blake, pregnant and lost, and left for Iran. It seems as if all this while I was playing at motherhood. I have known nothing, but the fun stuff. But this—this hurts so fucking bad.

‘Oh God. Oh God. Please don’t take my son away from me. Please. He’s just a baby. Take me.’

Suddenly, I stop blubbering. There it is. The truth that was staring me in the face the whole time. It is not Blake’s fault. It is mine. I came back to Blake. I dared her wrath. I was the one who was so naïve and stupid I did not think further than my passion. Both Billie and Jack warned me and I did not listen. It’s not Blake that is to blame. It is me. I stole another woman’s man.

I took her money, and arrogantly, stupidly thought nothing would come of it. That there would be no consequences. No debt collectors would come a calling.

I bite my fist.

Then I find my mind clearing. There is nothing to cloud it. I have lost my son and I have lost Blake. There is not even an erection between us left.

Without lust, I see my path clearly. It is as if it is lit by a thousand lanterns. My mother stands at the end of it. It is not Sorab that Victoria wants. It is me. All I have to do is give Blake up. That’s all. A sob chokes me. I am surprised by it. By the selfish instinct that prompted it. I stand. I know exactly what must be done.

Blake in exchange for my son.

Another traitorous sob rises up my throat. I swallow it down. Silent tears begin to run down my face. It is only my body making its stand. I’m not about to listen to it. I stand up and go to my bedroom. I open my jewelry box. I lift the first tray. Throw it to the ground. The second tray follows quickly. I take a cleansing breath. A breath of love. There it is. Her card. All this time I saved it. Why? Because some cautious part of me knew this day was coming.

I take it out and look at it. The truth is I don’t need to look at it. Every single letter and number on it is indelibly imprinted into my memory bank.

I go to the bedside and the phone. I sniff once. Just to make sure that my voice when it comes out will be strong and sure. Then I clear my throat and cough. I pick up the phone and a voice full of pain and sorrow says from behind me, ‘Don’t call her, my darling.’

I turn toward the voice. My mouth parts in a soundless cry. My nose is so blocked from crying I can’t breathe through it anymore. I gaze at him sadly. The truth is he is my life, and fresh tears start pouring from my eyes.

‘For Sorab,’ I sob.

‘Not even for Sorab.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I will not give you up for anything.’

‘He is our baby. He is innocent. He is depending on us to protect him,’ I whisper.

‘He is my son. I will give up my life for him, but I will not give you up and live with her for him.’

I close my eyes. If only this was all a nightmare that I could wake up from.

‘Understand this, Lana. You are mine. You belong to me. Because you are young and you have never had others, you are like a child who has been given a priceless antique. You know not the price so you are willing to do the exchange. I will die before I let you make such an exchange.’

‘For Sorab,’ I plead.

‘You still don’t understand, do you? You can go on without me for Sorab’s sake, but I cannot. Without you nothing makes sense. Everything is meaningless.’

I stare at him blankly. I know his words carry meaning, important meaning, but they wash over me. I made that boy in my body. God gave him to me to introduce to this world. He deserves my loyalty. Until he can fend for himself I am his mother. I will fight his corner to the end.

Blake walks towards me and stands directly in front of me. ‘I know you want me to say otherwise, but I can only tell you what is in my heart. I love Sorab, but I love you more. When Sorab wants to go to summer camp, I will allow it, then I will watch with pride when he goes off to university and moves out, but you—I will not allow myself to be parted from you for one day.’

‘I don’t want to be parted from you either.’

‘Besides there is far, far more at stake than you understand.’

I know instinctively that he is right. I know nothing about these people, their cold and brutal ways. Slowly, I replace the receiver on its hook.

‘You don’t understand her. Maybe I don’t understand her either, but I still want you to trust me that I understand her better than you. I want you to know I would die for my son. There is no greater commitment than that. I will get him back.’

‘If you don’t?’

‘That is defeatist thinking. Don’t defeat me, Lana. You are the only one who can.’

I run into his arms. ‘Just bring my son back to me.’

He pries the card from my hand, not realizing I have memorized its contents.

‘Promise me only one thing.’

‘What?’

‘Never contact her. She will destroy you and Sorab.’

I nod.

‘There is something important you must know. While you are safe he is safe.’

I nod again. I am so frightened, I am glad he is taking over. My plan was no plan at all. It was to beg pity from the criminally insane. Stupid strategy.

He looks at his watch. ‘I want you to eat.’

I start shaking my head.

‘You have to be strong for Sorab.’

I cover my face. ‘I can’t eat.’

He nods. ‘Then you will watch me eat.’

He puts his hands around my waist and we walk together to the kitchen. He moves toward the refrigerator. And it occurs to me that I know exactly how I can be of use. I can keep him strong.

‘I’ll do it,’ I say, and I open the fridge door and rummage around. The chef has left some lamb chops wrapped in cling film.

‘Would you like me to make you a meal, madam?’ Rita, my housekeeper, asks from the doorway. She has curly hair and wears glasses. Usually she spends her nights at her daughter’s house in Surrey. She must be staying over because of the situation with Sorab.

‘Thank you, Rita, but I can manage.’

‘It’s no problem.’

‘No, I’d like to keep busy.’

She nods and disappears.

I find some broccoli and carrots to go with the chops. There is also mint sauce and some parsnip mash in a covered dish. Blake sits on an island stool while I prepare his meal for him. We do not speak.

He stares at me while I move around, but I know he is not really watching me. He is laying his plans. Once he expels his breath and says, ‘OK, OK.’

I say nothing. I know he is not talking to me.

Quietly, I work. It is therapeutic. When I put his food in front of him, he picks up his knife and fork and eats automatically. There is no enjoyment or sign that he is even tasting the food. Once or twice, he frowns. Halfway through his meal he stops eating, looks at me, smiles faintly and says, ‘Sometime ago I had my soul put in a box and delivered to you.’

I sit with my hands clasped on the counter.

At the end of it all, he gazes down as if perplexed at his empty plate. ‘Will you be all right if I leave you alone for a couple of hours?’

I nod.