December 29th
Aniela
‘I got the audition! Aniela, I got it!’ Melody burst into the
Clinic, beaming from ear to ear. ‘Ow!’ She giggled, putting her hands gingerly to her face. ‘I have to be careful – I keep smiling, and it hurts. But I’m so happy! They’ve actually agreed to see me!’
Aniela was playing patience on the table in reception. The history books on which she usually relied for entertainment had failed her in this crisis; she had desperately needed something to do with her hands, some physical distraction from the terrifying speculations that were running through her mind, and had been ever since she had run from Jon’s apartment the day before. She had no way of contacting him, no way of knowing that he was still alive, and it was absolute torture not to know how he was or where he was. For the first time ever, she had taken a sleeping pill the night before, and even that hadn’t been entirely successful at knocking her out; she had slept only fitfully and had had terrifying dreams. She was brewing herself camomile tea every half-hour, but that wasn’t helping either; only digging out a pack of cards and laying out the appropriately named patience seemed to calm her restless mind a little.
She glanced up at the clock. Just after ten. In under two hours she could go to Jon’s apartment, see if the note was there. Or if Dasha Khalovksy and whoever she brings got there first, before he could leave.
He must have got out first, he must. He knows what he’s doing. Look how fast he jumped over that table at Christmas, how he dropped that drug in Mr Khalovsky’s drink. And he was sure she was coming for him – no way would he have waited around to be killed by Dasha Khalovsky.
She’d kept telling herself that all yesterday, all this morning, knowing that she couldn’t go up to the apartment before noon, couldn’t deviate from the instructions Jon had given her to keep her safe. Visiting at her standard time was what the Clinic nurse would do: it gave her protection. Anything else would look as if she had some personal relationship to him, especially considering that they had arrived at and left Grigor’s Christmas dinner together. And Jon was obviously concerned that no one suspect that they were connected in any way that wasn’t strictly professional, in case Dasha Khalovsky used Aniela to get to him.
I understand, Aniela thought. I do. He’s trying to keep me safe. But I don’t want to be safe! I want to help him any way I can—
‘Will you help me?’ Melody was asking, waving a dog-eared copy of Much Ado About Nothing. ‘Will you run lines with me? I want to make totally sure I’m off the book by tomorrow – it’s tomorrow, the audition! Oh my God, Aniela, tomorrow – can you believe it?’
At least it’ll be a distraction, Aniela thought, putting down the cards she was holding.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘What do I have to do?’
‘You read Benedick – that’s the part James is playing,’ Melody said eagerly. ‘And I read Beatrice – those are the highlighted lines – and you correct me if I get anything wrong. I can’t believe I actually get to audition! My agent said he had to beg and plead and cry and call in tons of favours, but he pulled it off! I’m beyond excited!’
She clasped the paperback to her chest theatrically.
You see that she’s an actress when she gets like this, Aniela thought; it’s not that her emotions aren’t real, but she’s magnifying them. Like a normal person, but with the volume turned all the way up, as if she has extra points on the dial...
‘No, wait!’ Melody threw the book on the table, scattering some of the cards. ‘I’m too wound up to read right now – let’s go for a walk by the river first! It’s a lovely day out there. I’ll grab a coat and meet you in the lobby. Okay?’
She barely waited for an answer, tossing a smile back over her shoulder as she ran out again.
It’s a good idea, Aniela thought, getting up and reaching for her own coat. I could do with some fresh air. I’m going mad cooped up in here like an animal in a pen.
The events of yesterday had been ridiculously dramatic. First Lubo bursting into the Clinic, and then evicting him from the flat; ugh, so humiliating, having Melody see where I live, and Lubo behaving like a pig while I was away. Melody had been a trouper: she hadn’t batted an eye at the filthy flat, the empty beer cans and half-eaten containers of takeaway food, pizza cartons with crusts rattling in them – as if Lubo was too bloody refined to eat crusts, Aniela thought savagely. His smelly shoes, his dirty underwear: they’d picked it all up, squirming and squealing, shoved it into black bin liners, and dropped it out of the window to the narrow patio outside. Lubo, mercifully, hadn’t shown up: probably drowning his sorrows in a Polish drinking den, Aniela assumed. She’d told her neighbours – none of whom liked noisy, obnoxious Lubo– that he was no longer living there, and to ring the police if they saw him trying to get in. They hadn’t even tried to mask their relief at the news.
And then, coming back to find that Jon had got in touch, running up to his place, having him greet me like that... Her whole body flushed with the memory of how they had made love yesterday, so slowly, so surely, building to the most phenomenal series of orgasms she had ever had. He’s amazing. The most amazing lover I could imagine.
And it’s more than likely that I might never see him again... Ugh! Stop it! You’re torturing yourself!
Pulling on her coat, Aniela dashed out to the lobby of Limehouse Reach. A walk was just what she needed; Melody had come at exactly the right time. The security guards, slumped in their office behind the reception desk, drinking tea and watching TV, with only the most occasional glance at the huge panel of flickering CCTV monitors, all visibly perked up as Melody ran out of the lift, her black hair streaming behind her. Andy, sitting, bored, at the concierge’s station, flashed her a huge smile and waved at her as she grabbed Aniela’s arm and whisked her out of the back doors. Melody’s bruising was still visible, her cheeks and lips puffier than they should be, but you could no longer tell unless you were close to her; from a distance, she was the classic beauty she had been before the first round of plastic surgery.
‘You look really good,’ Aniela told her as they speed walked, arms linked, fast along the riverfront. ‘For tomorrow, on stage, they will not even see that you have had surgery, if you put on make-up to hide the bruising.’
‘Oh, don’t worry!’ Melody said blithely. ‘I have tons of cover-up! And I’m in good shape – I measured myself yesterday, and I’ve actually lost a little around my waist and hips.’ She grimaced. ‘I’ve barely eaten a thing in the last few days. Seeing James, knowing about the Felicity thing, worrying about whether I’d get the audition – anyway, I’m not going to think about that right now! All I’m focusing on is Beatrice. Becoming Beatrice. I’m going to take all that worry and insecurity and shove it right into creating her in my mind. You know, she’s a little older than some of the other girls in the play, she’s got this crush on Benedick but she protects herself by being witty and bitchy to hide her true feelings – there’s so much I can use about what I’m going through myself to really dig deep and get to Beatrice’s core self—’
On another occasion, it might have been torture to be forced to hear Melody rattle on like this. But it suited Aniela perfectly. She couldn’t really have made conversation, she was too on edge, too worried about Jon. Melody’s stream of words flowed over her comfortingly, reassuring her that a response wasn’t expected.
And besides, she helped me out so much yesterday. If all she wants in return is for me to listen to her, it isn’t much to ask...
They turned back after twenty minutes, Aniela reminding Melody that she had a patient to visit at noon.
‘Okay, you see him and then come to mine to run lines?’ Melody asked. ‘I’ll order in some lunch, my treat, and then we can run lines in the afternoon.’ She glanced sideways at Aniela. ‘And maybe, if you’re not busy, you could hang out afterwards, keep me company? We could watch some films, I can order in dinner
– I’m so buzzed, I don’t want to be alone. I
worked out already! Aren’t I being good! I got up at eight, went straight to the gym, and then I got back and there was a message from my agent – oh God, I’m so excited about this audition I can hardly breathe— ’
She was off again, the flow of words unabating, all the way back to Limehouse Reach again: they had almost reached the back doors, Melody was already reaching in her coat pocket for her key card, when all of a sudden, a man jumped out from the side of the building, levelling a long black barrel directly at them.
Melody screamed. Aniela, in a flash, assumed that this was one of Dasha Khalovsky’s henchmen, and that she was the target. Her heart leaped into her mouth, and she stared at him helplessly, knowing there was nothing she could do. He was too far away for her to try to grab the gun, and too close for her to run for cover. If he wanted to shoot her right now, she could do nothing, nothing at all—
The barrel clicked and whirred. And flashed. Several flashes, one after the other. It wasn’t a gun. It was a camera.
I don’t understand. Aniela looked at Melody, who had thrown up her hands to cover her face, was ducking away, running for the doors.
‘Melody!’ the man yelled. ‘Why did you have more surgery? What’ve you had done? Have you still got the boobs? Any regrets about going to Hollywood? Are you—’
Aniela finally understood what was going on. She glared at the photographer, a scruffy little weasel; she would have loved to slap him, but she knew that would make the story even better. Melody had got the door open, and Aniela went swiftly over to follow her inside, slamming it behind her to make sure the paparazzo couldn’t get in.
‘Bastard!’ Melody said savagely, shaking all over. ‘Ugh, I hate them!’
He was still out there, taking shots of them through the glass doors; the bodyguard stationed inside by Grigor, whose job it was to keep that entrance under surveillance, backed away, making sure he was not in camera range. It was most definitely not part of his job to get caught up in a story which had nothing to do with his employer.
Aniela steered Melody over to the bank of lifts, out of range of the photographer’s lens.
‘How did he know you were here?’ she asked, frowning. ‘We are very discreet at the Clinic. And here, too, the staff must never gossip. The managers have given Dr Nassri many assurances of confidentiality. He will be furious when I tell him—’
Melody took a deep breath, her body still quivering with rage.
‘No, don’t,’ she said. ‘I have a very good idea who tipped off that pap I was here. And it wasn’t anyone from the Clinic or Limehouse Reach.’ She stamped her foot furiously. ‘It was that bitch Felicity – she’s trying to mess with me before my audition tomorrow. That cow!’
She stamped again, an expression of glorious fury on her face.
‘Well, I’m not going to let her win!’ she said with utter determination. ‘I’m not!’
Jon
Jon had found an excellent strategic vantage point. He was cautiously pleased with it, which was as much as Jon ever allowed himself to be. Except where Aniela’s concerned, he corrected himself immediately.
And that was the problem; that was the entire problem in a nutshell. Everything was starting to be about Aniela. If it hadn’t been for Aniela, he wouldn’t be where he was right now, on the same damn floor as his own room, so he could keep it under surveillance. He had managed to locate an empty apartment at the far end of the hallway, the corner one, which had the advantage of not only a service door from the kitchen to the waste disposal area, but another door off a secondary living room which also led out to the communal hallway, presumably left over from two apartments having been knocked together. It had been painted over, but Jon had worked it back and forth until one good wrench would pull it open; he had, of course, picked the locks in that and the kitchen doors, to allow him multiple exit points in case of emergency.
The apartment itself was huge, lavish, and echoingly empty. Everything that could be covered in dust sheets had been; it was draped within an inch of its life. Even the staircase that led down from the mezzanine level had had its elaborate, carved wooden banister shrouded in white sheets, fixed there with masking tape. It would make the perfect place for an ambush, Jon thought. He wasn’t planning an ambush, but you never knew, and he could take out a dozen of Dasha Khalovsky’s heavies if they came after him here. He had already secured the perimeter; every access door had a neatly fixed tripwire that would set off a tiny alarm in his pocket if someone was trying to get in. With another little gizmo, he had put the security cameras in the corridor outside on the fritz for the duration of his exploration of the floor, while he’d been working out which apartment to squat in, first ringing doorbells, then picking the locks and calling ‘Housekeeping!’, making damn sure that there was no one inside before he committed to entering.
He’d been his normal methodical self, working his way down the hall, but this apartment was clearly the best choice. From the peephole on its front door, he could observe his old apartment, see whether Dasha Khalovsky would indeed send some guys to take him out. And I can make sure that Aniela’s followed instructions. That she doesn’t poke around, try to find clues to where I’ve gone, do anything that might call attention to her.
If it weren’t for her, I’d have holed up on a whole different floor for a week or so, waiting till Dasha Khalovsky assumed I’d already gone. Then I’d’ve slipped out of the building and figured out somewhere to go. But I can’t leave now, not while there’s the slightest risk that Dasha might try to get to me through Aniela. She’s anchoring me here.
He ought to mind that, he supposed. It was like being tied down, dependent on someone else’s existence to feel good about your own. But actually, it feels pretty good having someone to take care of. Sort of like there’s a meaning to my life. His frustration was not that he had to hang around Limehouse Reach for Aniela’s sake, but that he couldn’t be physically closer to her, couldn’t protect her as well as he would like.
But then, if I were closer to her, I’d be trying to get in her pants the whole time, he thought ironically. Which is the best reason why I should be up here and she should be downstairs in the Clinic. No way could I protect her with a perpetual hard-on – I’d be way too distracted.
And, if he’d needed extra proof of the way she affected him, by a quarter to twelve his heart was already beating faster, just with the anticipation of seeing her. Jon heard the lift ping as she arrived on the dot of noon, a coat thrown over her uniform; she walked towards his door, stopped on noticing the note he’d left on the door, took it down and read it; then, shrugging, she folded it up, put it in her pocket and went back to the lift bank again. The entire visit took barely two minutes. He hated to see her vanish again, but was proud of her; that was perfect. Anyone else watching wouldn’t think she was anything but an agency nurse happy to have one fewer patient on her list.
He was quite aware that someone might be watching the video feed of that little visit, or bribe the security guards downstairs to pass over the footage. How Aniela behaved had been very important, and she’d known that too.
Smart girl, he thought, very pleased.
And then he settled down to watch the video feeds himself, having rigged a system to tap into all the cameras on that floor. He’d alternate between them and the peephole, sleeping for twenty minutes every three hours, for the next week. Pretty standard for him; and here, he had a huge sofa to crash on, which was the height of luxury for a sniper used to bivouacking in a forest. He’d once slept in a tree for three days.
So, with a clear and conscious effort, he wiped any immediate thoughts of Aniela from his mind, anything but the task before him, and set his body clock to sniper time.
Andy
Andy was bored out of his mind, but that was nothing new. Well paid as this job was, he was seriously thinking about calling his contacts at a range of five-star London hotels to ask them whether there was a concierge slot opening up any time soon. The pay would be a little lo
wer, the perks less generous, but he’d be busy the whole time, and honestly, it would be worth it; yes, it was great to come into work early, use the gym, swim against the wave machine, steam in the sauna, jump into the hydrotherapy pool, and there was no way a concierge in a luxury hotel would ever be allowed to use its facilities.
But the boredom – this is so not worth it, even for the extra dosh. Andy was bursting at the seams to do his job, sort clients out with anything they might need, and his talents were going almost completely to waste. The fun he’d had helping Grigor Khalovksy organise the Christmas festivities, fantastic though it had been, had merely reminded him, when it was all over, of how much he loved to be busy.
I should go into event planning, he thought suddenly. Wow! Well, that’s an idea—
Pulling his iPad towards him, he started to make a list of people he knew who worked in the field, his brain racing with excitement. This is brilliant – finally, I actually have some sort of plan to get me out of here! I’m so sick of sitting in this chair all day!
And focusing on his career would also distract him from thinking about Wayne Burns, which he was doing pretty much all day and all night. Andy wasn’t an idiot; he knew that all that had happened between them was that he and a closeted footballer had given each other blowjobs, the kind of quick, strings-free sexual encounter that was par for the course for a lot of gay men. It’d be crazy to think it meant any more than that. The trouble was that Andy had had that kind of swift, meaningless fun plenty of times in the past – but this felt different. It felt like there was something between us. A real connection. I felt so easy with him – like we could chat for hours, hang out. It wasn’t just sex. It was something more.
Bad Angels Page 38