The Second Wife

by Rebecca Fleet

As he studies her she feels herself trembling, half holding her breath. And then he nods and turns away, swinging back to give her one last cool, appraising look before disappearing into the crowd.

  * * *

  • • •

  THE MORNING after that first night she wakes up and her thoughts are instantly full of him: the scent of him inches away from her, that last long look. Kaspar Kashani . . . the five smoothly flowing syllables of his name drip into her mind in a relentless, repeated rhythm. She hears them in his low, roughly accented voice, as if whispered into her ear. The thought of him obsesses her, grips hard and won’t let her go. She sees it again and again in her mind’s eye, that moment when he turned around and walked away from her. The unexpectedness of it, the way it instantly sharpened her desire into need. This has never happened before.

  She wants to talk to someone, and Rachel is the only one there, so she gets up early and joins her for breakfast, ignoring her look of surprise.

  “Morning,” Rachel says cautiously as she pours her cereal. She’s already dressed, in the leggings and crop top she wears for her morning runs, her hair tied up in a neat ponytail. “Didn’t think I’d see you before I left. What did you get up to last night?”

  “Oh,” Sadie says, and she hesitates for an instant, teetering on the edge of the precipice before she falls and hears herself say in a casual voice that belies her eagerness, “I just went to see Kas.” It’s the first time she’s spoken his name aloud and the shape of it is new and luxurious in her mouth, sending a brief ricochet of erotic possibility through her body.

  “Who?” Rachel asks blankly.

  “You know,” Sadie says. “The guy yesterday, from the club.”

  Rachel sets down her spoon with a clink, her eyes wide. “No,” she says. “You didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?” Sadie asks airily. She knows she’s making this sound like more than it is, and even that is exciting, the sense that her sister believes that something could happen between herself and him. Still, she shrugs and shakes her head, relenting. “Nothing like that,” she says. “The club is pretty cool, though. You should come down with me sometime soon, check it out.”

  “Right,” Rachel says doubtfully, raising an eyebrow as she returns to her cornflakes.

  “No, really.” As the suggestion takes root Sadie realizes she means it. She can’t go back there repeatedly on her own; it would look desperate, pathetic. And she doesn’t trust any of the women she hangs around with enough to call them real friends, the type who wouldn’t try to hit on Kas themselves or show her up by recounting some embarrassing anecdote that makes her look bad—and there are plenty of those to choose from. Rachel may be straight, but she’s her sister. She knows Rachel wouldn’t want to hurt her.

  She feels a sudden rush of affection, even love, and even though she knows it’s at least partly chemical—the drugs from last night still buzzing round her system—it’s enough to spur her on. “You used to go out sometimes,” she continues persuasively. “Until you got this job. We don’t have to go during the week . . . just weekends. It could be something we do together.”

  Rachel frowns, and Sadie knows she’s weighing up that “it,” wondering whether spending nights in a crowded club while her sister pops pills and cozies up to men is what sisterly togetherness is all about. But eventually she nods. “Okay, I’ll come with you next weekend. But I’m only coming because I’m worried about you. I meant what I said yesterday. You need to change the way you’re behaving. In the meantime, if I can’t stop you then at least I can be there.”

  “Great!” Sadie says brightly, before she stops and realizes that what Rachel has said actually isn’t that great; it’s depressing and defeatist and sucking the fun out of everything. At least she’s going to come, though, and don’t actions speak louder than words? So she gives her sister a dazzling smile and reaches for the cereal, remembering that she hasn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours and that that must be why her hands are trembling and her heart feels like it’s on fast-forward.

  And so they go to the club the next Saturday night, and it’s obvious from the instant Rachel steps through the door that she hates it, but she stays nonetheless. They dance for a while, and Sadie drinks less and takes fewer drugs than usual. She pretends it’s because she wants to show Rachel that she can be responsible, but in reality she wants to keep her wits about her, look out for Kas so that she can be seen behaving in the right way. And up to a point, it seems to work. It only takes half an hour for him to notice her, and when he does he moves swiftly toward her, buying them drinks and asking if they live nearby. Rachel is monosyllabic, her expression shuttered and suspicious, and before long Kas is ignoring her almost completely.

  “Your second time here. There is something about this place you like?” he asks Sadie. His tone is oblique, lazily charming. His eyes flicker up and down her body, never quite settling.

  “Yes,” she says. If only he would look at her properly, then she could show him exactly what that something is—give him the brazen, unblinking stare that has worked on so many others. But he doesn’t, and there’s something unmistakably deliberate about the way he’s holding her at arm’s length. She knows this game, has played it, but never from this side of the fence.

  He smiles, reaching out an olive-skinned hand and slowly pushing his fingers into her hair. She stands rigid, trying to slow her breathing. His fingers reemerge with something between them; a bright twisted stream of ribbon. “Yours?”

  She laughs, trying to be casual, though she can still feel the touch of his skin against hers, as if it has branded her. “No, I don’t think so.”

  He crumples it into a little ball between his fingertips, then puts it in his pocket, and for a moment he does look at her. She feels the full focus of his attention on her, intense and overwhelming. “I hope to see you again,” he says.

  “Maybe,” she fires back. “If you’re lucky.”

  For a moment he looks a little incredulous, regarding her steadily. She hears the echo of her flippant words hanging between them, and it comes with the queasy, dawning realization that none of her usual patter will work on this man. She has always been the one in control, without even trying; it has always been so easy. She cannot even imagine what it would be like to be with someone like Kas. Someone who will not jump when she snaps her fingers, panting after her like an eager dog in heat. She thinks about those hands that were close to her just moments ago, thinks about them slipping underneath her clothes and claiming her body, and desire floods through her again, making her feel almost sick.

  “Well,” he says. “Until next time,” and he gives her a brief, glittering smile and nods at Rachel politely before he walks away.

  As soon as he is gone Rachel tugs on her arm, putting her mouth close to her ear. “What a creep. Come on, Sadie. You can’t possibly think anything else.”

  “You don’t know him,” Sadie says dismissively.

  “No,” Rachel acknowledges, “and neither do you.”

  And in this, Sadie thinks, she isn’t wrong. And so she watches him carefully throughout the rest of the night, trying to glean what she can. He moves across the dance floor, behind the bar, out to the reception area, never staying anywhere for long. He talks to various men, one-on-one, brief, intent conversations that look professional. There is something distinctly deferential in the way the other men behave around him. Their stances, the angle of their heads, the movement of their hands. She sees it, and she understands that he is the boss. Not only of the club, but of the people in it.

  At almost two a.m., when the crowd is thinning out and the music is winding down, she sees his attention caught by something behind the bar. One of the barmen is swigging cheekily from a bottle, laughing with a couple of the customers. It looks harmless, a brief jokey interlude before he turns back to his work, but she can see at once that Kas is not happy. He strides over to the man, puts
a hand on his shoulder, and leans in. The two of them stay there for almost a minute, a little frozen tableau, and she’s suddenly aware of how tall Kas is, six foot three or maybe more, and how his presence dominates. She cannot hear the words that he speaks into the barman’s ear, but whatever they are, they are enough to make him blanch and pull back, nodding urgently. She sees that he is trying to mumble something in return, but Kas cuts him off instantly, his hand reaching out again and this time gripping harder. The man’s face twists in pain, and he nods again, his eyes downcast, until Kas breaks away and walks back across the dance floor, not looking back.

  Sadie watches him go. She has stopped dancing and she’s aware of a thin layer of sweat all over her body, but her skin feels clammy and cold. It is important, she supposes, when you are in charge of people, to be able to keep them in line. She thinks back to her old school, where some of the best teachers were those who had the respect and admiration of the pupils, but who were also strict enough to command a little fear. If you have this power, you use it. That’s natural.

  RACHEL

  1999

  She doesn’t always go into the club. Most of the time, in fact, she just drives to Camden late at night and stays in the parking lot opposite until Sadie emerges. She sits there watching the minutes tick by, trying to warm her hands against the ineffectual fan heater, waiting. At first she used to switch on the little light above the driver’s seat, spurred by a childish fear of the dark, but one night it occurred to her how it would look from the outside: a beacon advertising her presence to whatever ruthless stranger might chance to walk past. Since the thought entered her head she hasn’t been able to get it out, and so now she just sits in the dark.

  Sometimes the thought of this silent vigil is too much to contemplate, and instead she joins Sadie inside. She can never decide if this is better or worse. At least in the club she can watch her sister, keep an eye on whatever is going on. But she doesn’t like to be in the same room as Kaspar. There’s something about him that she instinctively mistrusted from the start, and over time this instinct has hardened into knowledge. It’s not that he’s ever done anything untoward, not that she’s seen. It’s subtler than that, more ingrained; what frightens her is simply the person that he is. She can’t understand why Sadie doesn’t see what she sees, but she’s given up trying to make her. Instead she makes it her business to watch him.

  Slowly, she grows to understand that Kas is at the center of a network that does not advertise itself. Like a set of concentric circles, some are allowed into his inner force field, and others are kept at the fringes. There are many men who drop in and out of the club from week to week, seemingly at random, but the strange thing is, she soon becomes adept at knowing which ones are part of Kas’s circle. There is something indefinable that groups them, something she cannot isolate despite many attempts.

  At the heart of the circle with Kas is a man called Dominic Westwood. He is short and stocky, with white-blond cropped hair, hard glassy eyes, and curiously pliable-looking features, as if he has been fashioned out of Play-Doh. It takes three visits for Rachel to notice him, but once she does, it seems he’s there all the time—observing from a distance, exchanging looks with Kas across the club. She starts to see them talking in corners. She is unsure of the nature of the bond between them, but she quickly realizes that it is well-established. In much the same way, it seems that he has noticed her; recognized her link to Sadie, whose growing closeness to Kas he has clearly acknowledged. When her sister and Kas fall together into one of their cryptic conversations or intense exchanges of glances by the bar, Dominic often seeks Rachel out, despite her efforts to put him off. They are thrown together by default. He has never indicated any sexual interest in her, and it’s for this reason only that she talks to him at all. At least if he is there, he keeps the others at bay; men who circle silently and speculatively, waiting for their chance.

  “How did you and Kas meet?” she asks Dominic one night, some six weeks in, as they sit together at the bar.

  Dominic shrugs and his eyes slant away, in some brief private moment of remembrance. “He’s always been around,” he says, “but I only got to know him a couple of years ago.”

  The answer tells her nothing. Rachel pushes the heat of her hair back from her face, feeling her forehead damp with sweat. “You started working here with him?” she asks. As she speaks, she realizes that she is not entirely sure, after all, whether or not Dominic works at the club. He is always there, and sometimes behind the bar, but there is a layer of distance; he observes rather than participates. It does not surprise her when he shakes his head.

  “He did me a favor,” he says. “Helped me out of some trouble. After that, well.” He shrugs again, and downs his drink. Rachel wants to probe further, but she has detected something new in his voice—a chilly note of self-protection that warns her off. She repeats his words to herself. She is reminded of a fairy tale: the princess who, once saved from peril by the handsome stranger, was magically bound to him forever. The comparison feels faintly ridiculous, and without thinking, she smiles.

  Dominic gives her a swift, sly look. “And of course, I’ve known Melanie for a while,” he says.

  Rachel frowns slightly, trying to place the name. All Kas’s associates are men, as far as she is aware. “Right . . .” she says, in a tone that she hopes conveys understanding.

  “Yeah,” says Dominic, nodding. “His wife.” The keenness of his eyes tells her that he wants to see her reaction.

  She keeps her face straight, though inside her stomach is churning. She’s almost certain that Sadie has no idea that Kas is married. They rarely discuss him—they’re both too aware of their fundamental differences of opinion—but it would take a blind woman not to see that her sister is obsessed with him, and to a degree Rachel has never really seen in her before. “I didn’t know he had a wife,” she settles for, her tone offhand.

  “She’s in tonight,” Dominic says casually. “First time in a while. Look.” He jerks his head in the direction of the DJ box. “Over there. Red dress.”

  Rachel looks, and sees a tall woman, five foot ten at least, with olive skin, wavy dark hair, an angular face, and a rake-slim figure that speaks of self-possession and denial. She’s leaning back against the box, her arms folded, looking dispassionately out across the club. For a second her gaze snags on Rachel’s, and she gives her a quick hard stare of dismissal.

  “Why are you telling me this?” she asks.

  Dominic smirks as he motions toward the barman for another drink. “Just making conversation, babe.” He manages to make the endearment sound like an insult. “You want another?” He nods at her near-empty glass.

  Rachel shakes her head. “I’m not staying.” She slips off her stool, scanning the crowd for Sadie. She soon spots her, dancing aimlessly in the center of the crowd, her expression flat and glazed. She doesn’t look as if she’s enjoying herself. She only comes here, Rachel thinks, for him.

  She pushes through the dancers to reach her sister’s side, touching her on the shoulder. “Sadie,” she says, putting her mouth close to her ear. “Can we talk?”

  Sadie looks vaguely put out, but shrugs and nods, allowing herself to be led to the side of the dance floor. Now that they’re away from the spotlights, Rachel can see that her makeup is running; sparkled shadows of dust collecting beneath her eyes, a smudge of red lipstick spilling onto the skin beneath her mouth. She looks damaged, and inexplicably beautiful. “What is it?” she asks.

  “Dominic just told me something,” Rachel says. There doesn’t feel like a good way to say this, so she just spits it out. “Did you know that Kas is married?”

  Sadie’s face twitches, as if she’s been slapped. “No. What do you mean? He isn’t.”

  “That’s not what Dominic said.” For a moment Rachel thinks about pointing out the woman in the red dress, but decides against it. “Anyway, I just thought you ought
to know. I know there’s nothing going on between you, but . . .” She trails off, unsure of how to continue. She senses that for Sadie, confronting the fact that she isn’t having an affair with a married man might be even more humiliating than having an affair with one who she believed to be single.

  She expects Sadie to snap something back; conversation with her is usually quick-fire, shoot first and think later. But she stays silent—a slight frown furrowing her brows, her eyes distant and lost—and then abruptly turns and marches back across the dance floor. Rachel can see she’s heading for the reception area, where Kas is likely to be. She stands indecisively for a moment, then swiftly follows her sister. The reception is round a sharp corner, and she lingers diagonally across from it, shaded by the dim corridor lighting. She can see Kas, leaning back against the wall and rifling through a stack of papers, so absorbed that even when Sadie moves next to him he doesn’t look up.

  “Kas,” Sadie says.

  He whips round. “What?” The word is barked and unfriendly, like an accusation. A split second later, his expression relaxes. “I am sorry, Sadie,” he murmurs. “I thought you were somebody else.”

  Sadie looks uncertain for an instant, then seems to collect herself. “I just came to let you know I won’t be coming in again.” Rachel can hear the slight crack in her voice, but it would be imperceptible to anyone else; the only sign that this is difficult for her to say.

  Kas raises his eyebrows, but says nothing. It’s impossible to tell from his face whether he cares about what she is saying or not.

  “You never said you were married,” Sadie states baldly, but as soon as it’s out she seems to lose confidence in her stance. She wraps her arms around herself, reaches one hand up to tug unconsciously at her hair. “It’s none of my business,” she continues more quietly, “but . . .”

  Kas comes closer to her, sliding a hand beneath her chin and lifting her face a little to his. He studies her intently, like a scientist with a strange and rare specimen. “I thought you knew how things were,” he says softly, so that Rachel has to strain to hear him. “Life is not always simple, Sadie. You know this.”