She managed to smile, bless her, which was quite a feat when that look of contempt had appeared to be chiseled into her saggy bulldog features. So I smiled back at her, and held out the hand that had so recently been up my own skirt.
“Charmed,” she said, with the briefest of nods. And then, turning to her son: “Willem, you excel, as ever.”
Fuck.
And so I sat, with Will between me and his parents, hoping in vain that if I sank down far enough into my hard, uncomfortable seat they might not see me at all.
34.
“Hey there, E.”
“Hey there, little sis’.”
Standing outside in the fall sun, a half-drunk pint of dark beer in his hand. No Will. No Eleanor or Charlie or uncannily intimidating Bentinck-Stanley parents. Just me and my big brother, sharing a drink, like old times, or as close to old times as we were ever going to get right now.
“You okay?”
He nodded.
I didn’t have to say any more, didn’t have to explain. Two words was all it needed. A couple of years back, our parents had gone off the highway near their Naugatuck home, and that was it: a mere moment between life and totally unexpected, un-planned-for death.
“You?”
My turn to nod.
Then we hugged, briefly, and that was it. Seven words, two nods and a hug and we’d communicated more than we had in most of the time since the accident.
§
Charlie. I’d been with him for a year, and now without him for a year after I’d kicked him out of the Islington apartment I had paid for and we had shared. Last time I’d seen him he’d been waiting for me outside what had been our home, somehow thinking that two misguided and much-regretted instances of ex-sex meant he could have me whenever he wanted. And then, when it finally sank in that this wasn’t going to happen, he’d started haranguing me about Will.
And I’ll just say one more thing before I shut my whiney posh little voice up and leave you to think things over. Who do you think benefited from Sally Fielding’s death, once she’d re-emerged? Had you wondered about that?
Sowing those seeds of doubt, of suspicion. Fueling the paranoia I already had about Will and his mysterious life. How much did I really know about him? How much did I want to know?
We were out front of the big house, about to walk down the car-lined driveway to where Maninder would be patiently waiting.
Charlie. Apart from an awkward exchange of greetings and a few hard to read looks, I’d managed to steer clear of him all day. This funeral was no place for an encounter, the way Charlie did encounters.
But no... Just as we stepped down onto the gravel driveway, I saw the shape of a man through the bushes, standing in profile, peeing up against a tree.
“Um...” said Will quietly. “Do you think we should say something...?”
Poor drunk Charlie. He must have gone into the cover of the bushes from the other side and not even realized he was on full display to anyone on the driveway, as he stood there, one hand scratching under his strawberry-blond hair, the other casually holding his dick as he jetted a dark patch up a tree trunk.
I tugged at Will’s arm. I didn’t want this. Maybe we could just walk quietly by.
On a gravel driveway...
“Well bugger me sideways,” said Charlie, a startled look on his face. He turned towards us, the stream of urine tailing off so that now he just stood there facing us, cock in hand.
“You might want to put that thing away,” said Will, matter-of-factly. “Unless, of course, you have an encore?”
Charlie hurriedly stuffed himself back into his pants, his face reddening in a way I’d only rarely seen before. He wasn’t a man to embarrass easily, which was just as well given the way he often behaved.
Moments later, he stepped out before us, re-finding some of his old swagger. His eyes had always been a lovely, clear blue, pale as the sky, almost angelic. He fixed me with them now. “Do you really know what you’re getting into?” he said softly. “Have you any idea, Trude?”
I glanced at Will, but he was staring at Charlie, his look giving nothing away.
“Well?”
“That’s enough, Charlie,” said Will, his voice measured and even. “Are you going to be okay getting home? I could arrange–”
“Oh sure,” said Charlie. “You could arrange almost anything, couldn’t you?”
Will turned to me, and put a hand on my arm. “He’s drunk,” he said, unnecessarily. “I think we should just–”
“Turn the other cheek, eh?” said Charlie, interrupting again, and this time taking a step towards us. “Not get involved, eh? Is that what you told Sally? Did you tell her not to get involved, not to cross swords with the sacred family?”
At the mention of Sally Will stiffened. Or was it mention of his family?
“I love you, Charlie,” he said, after a pause, forcing a humorless chuckle. “I don’t know anyone else who could take the moral high ground when you’ve only just put your cock away.”
Then he went to him, put his hands on Charlie’s arms, and said, “Come on, old boy. Enough’s enough. We’ve all had a few drinks. Let’s get you sorted for a lift, okay?”
Charlie shrugged him off and for a moment I thought it was going to end in a scuffle, then Charlie took a couple of steps backwards, his eyes flitting between Will and me.
Managing to stand more upright, he pulled his jacket straight by the lapels, and said to Will, “Don’t you hurt her, you hear me? If I hear you have, then I don’t care what you or your family do to me, I’ll make you regret it, you hear? I’ll finish you.”
And with that, he turned and marched down the drive, away from us. We waited until he was out of sight, or it would have seemed like some walking-pace chase scene as we followed him away from the house.
“What did he mean, Will? You... the family...?”
Will shrugged, smiled, doing that upper class English thing of his again. “Oh, you know,” he said, when it should have been perfectly clear that I didn’t, or why would I have asked the question? “Just the drink talking.”
I looked at him, one eyebrow raised.
“Listen, Trudy,” he said. “It’s a messy business, this whole thing. I protect people, I negotiate, I take risks. It’s what I do, and it’s what my father did before me. The family trade, if you like. Sally and her little blackmail scheme exposed her to far more than she bargained for. We know how to handle ourselves, how to protect our own, but Sally didn’t know any of that when she let off her little grenade. She was caught in the crossfire.”
Just then, there was a discreet bleeping from his jacket. He reached into an inside pocket for his phone. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s my mother.”
“Your mother sends text messages?”
He shrugged. “I’m sorry,” he went on. “I need to...”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “The family calls, right?” I’d aimed for jokey, but ended up somewhere between that and thoroughly pissed at him. He picked up the tone right away.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m sorry. I really am. It’s been a tough day. For all of us. I really appreciate that you were here. I...”
“Go talk to Mommy,” I said. “I’ll find my own way home.”
With that, I turned and started to walk. I couldn’t quite work out if it was the kind of departure that would be undermined by me glancing back over my shoulder to check out his response or not, but probably it was, so I just kept my head down and walked.
Maninder was there in the Jag, just inside the gateway. He made as if to get out and open a door for me, but I kept walking. I’d get a cab, if they had such a thing out here in rural Kent. Or a bus. Hell, I’d thumb a lift from a psycho trucker if that’s what it took to get me out of there.
Too much in my head. Too much to try to make sense of.
35.
Next day was a Saturday, but even though my head was still muzzy I was in no mood for a lazy lie-in followed by an indulgent breakfast
over the Saturday papers round at Café Crème.
I was at the gym before eight. Bluetooth ear-pieces in, phone clipped to my waist, my exercise playlist on so loud it drowned out everything else in my head. That treadmill never knew what hit it.
I ran until I could run no more, all too aware of the potential symbolism of my chosen form of exercise.
He’d called on the evening after the funeral.
“I’m sorry...”
Apologizing. Always apologizing.
That must say a lot about a man, but I still hadn’t quite worked out precisely what it was that it said.
“Yeah,” I’d said. I was tired and, although I wouldn’t admit it and didn’t really know why, I’d been crying; and I was two-thirds of a bottle of Shiraz past Not a good time for this kind of crap.
“I...”
For a man who got by through having all the answers, all the lines, he could be a bit shit sometimes.
“It’s late,” I said, although it was barely nine o’clock. “And I need to ... not work in the morning. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll call tomorrow.”
I hung up, and then put my phone on silent, still fearing the Charlie might make another play as he started to sober up. Then I used the rest of the Shiraz to wash down a couple of Night Nurse capsules – my fallback solution to sleepless nights – and took myself to bed.
Now, at the gym, I was just debating with myself whether I could manage any more running or should settle for a few lengths of the pool and the steam room, when my old trainer, Maria Liu, turned up.
“Hey, Trudy,” she said, dropping into a sparring stance. “You need a workout? You up, like, real early today, yeah?”
I raised my hands in protest. Maria was even tougher than my kickboxing instructor back at Yale.
“Come on, girl. You keep saying. You all mouth? That what it is?”
I sighed. Maybe beating the crap out of heavy punchbag was just what I needed.
§
Or maybe, after all that running, what I really needed was a five-minute burst on the skipping rope while Maria watched critically.
“Come on, girl,” Maria kept saying. “Train hard, fight easy, yeah?”
I hadn’t sweated so much since, well, since last time Maria had talked me into a session at the gym.
After the skipping, she had me doing a bit of shadow-boxing before she put the focus pads on her hands and started to work me even harder, eyeing my combinations with just the right amount of disdain. I was rusty as Hell, and it showed.
I know she frowned at me playing my music while I trained, but hey, it was my call. There’s nothing like a bit of Bon Jovi coming up on shuffle to make you want to beat the crap out of a punchbag.
Just then, my music was interrupted by a call from Julie Donovan, star writer on my list at Ellison and Coles and turn-to cocktails partner at the very least excuse.
I paused to answer, but Maria gestured impatiently for me to keep going. I was using my phone hands-free, so I gave Maria a rapid sequence of jabs and then a hefty overhand, and then, my breath ragged, snapped, “Yes?”
“Jesus, girl, please tell me you’ve not answered the phone while you’re having sex,” came my friend’s voice into the earpiece. “All that grunting and panting. Or is that just how I do it, eh?”
Maria was waving a pad at me and pulling a face. I gave the pad a quick side-kick before pausing again.
“You are, aren’t you? Please, Trudy darling, let me call you back, would you? How long do you need? A minute? Two? Or is that just my experience coming through again?”
I waved No at Maria, who gave a snort of disgust, and dropped her arms.
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m done now.” And left it at that.
“Good good,” said Julie. “So how was it, then? Your man and his dead ex?”
Julie never had been a one for subtlety, which is probably why we got on so well. “Was weird,” I said, still breathing rapidly. “I know it was a funeral. Nobody likes funerals. But it was all so... so stiff. And then at the house afterwards. Charlie helped himself to too much of the wine and started making an asshole of himself – which isn’t hard for him, after all.”
“Ooh,” said Julie. “Your ex was at the funeral of your current beau’s ex. There would have been fireworks, I’m guessing?”
“Oh yes,” I said, and went on to tell how Charlie had segued from standing there with his dick in his hand to almost as much as accusing Will, or his family, of being responsible for Sally’s death. “He tried to warn me off,” I told her. “Said I shouldn’t get involved with Will, that I shouldn’t cross swords with ‘the sacred family’.”
“That what he said? And was he still waving his knob at you both at the time, or had he tucked the wee man away by then?”
I laughed. “He’d put it away,” I said. “He was actually quite sweet, in a drunken Charlie kind of a way. He told Will not to harm me. Threatened him.”
“Wow. Real duel at dawn stuff,” said Julie.
“Yeah. I guess. Julie, why can’t I ever just have a straightforward relationship?”
“That’s a contradiction in terms, darling.” Then, a sudden change of tack. “You think he might have a point?”
“What, Charlie?” Of course I did. That was a large part of the problem. “Yes, he probably does. Do you think I’ll ever be able to really trust Will?”
“You’re the only one who can answer that, honey. This whole thing: so many ups and downs, so many questions and complications. You’re the only one who can say if you score enough points on the plus side to make that whole cost-benefit analysis work.”
“So you’re not going to give me all the answers and tell me what to do?”
“That.”
“Not even if I beg?”
“You’re not the kind of girl to beg. Listen, there’s one thing I’ll do, apart from ply you with Cosmopolitans next time I’m in the city. I can do a bit of digging around, see what I can turn up. No matter how good they are at closing in and protecting themselves there must be something we can find. And no, I’m not going to make any comment about how unhealthy it is that you need to do this, okay?”
“Thanks, Julie. You’re a star.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said, and then hung up.
Maria was still standing there, pads on her hands. I wondered how much she’d been able to work out from my end of the phone conversation.
After a slight pause, she nodded, and said, “I think you need the punchbag now, yeah? Let’s see how much shit you can beat out of it, yeah?”
36.
Mostly, I planned to spend the rest of the day hurting. And moving as little as was humanly possible.
That gym session had been utter madness. Running until I could barely stand and then a really intense kickboxing session when I was so out of practice, I can safely say, is not to be advised. Afterwards I went through to the pool area, my legs like jelly. In the steam room I claimed a bench and stretched out, only now starting to wonder what madness had taken me over. I had clearly had some issues to work through, as Julie would no doubt have told me if I’d given her half a chance.
So, that afternoon I sat on my sofa with a Domino’s New Yorker and a stack of manuscripts that I had to read through by Monday.
Classic avoidance tactics, Trudy.
When my cell phone went I remembered that Will had said he would call later. I reached for the phone and saw that it wasn’t Will after all.
“Charlie,” I said, after thumbing ‘Answer’ on the little screen. “Charlie, can I just leave a recorded message for you that you can play whenever this mad urge to plague my very existence steals over you? It would say, ‘Charlie. You’re a sweet and surprisingly sensitive man, but there is no us and there’s not going to be. Despite all your flaws you’re quite a catch and I really hope someone catches you soon. Goodbye, Charlie. Beeeeep.’”
I hadn’t expected the long pause, or the steady, very reasonable tone
of his voice. “I know,” he said, eventually. “I know that, Trude. But look outside your window, would you? See the guy in the green puffer jacket. I’m pretty sure you don’t know him, and I saw him coming out of your flat this morning when you were out. I don’t want you to be the next Sally Fielding, Trudy. You have to take this seriously.”
It hurt me to move off that sofa, in more ways than the obvious. As well as the aches throughout my body from that hellish workout, it hurt me that Charlie was still obsessing over me, and it hurt me that even a small part of my mind bought into his paranoia.
I stopped short of the window, figuring that I could see out but it wouldn’t be so obvious to any onlooker that I was there.
It was a typical Saturday afternoon. Automobiles threading their way along the parked-up street, a bunch of hoodied teenagers clustered around the steps down to a basement doorway, a young couple with two small children, heading towards the park.
And, idly picking through a tray of apples at the shop on the corner, a nondescript guy in a green puffer jacket.
“You see?”
“I see a guy in a green puffer,” I told him. “And I’m pissed that you’re telling me this because it means you’re somewhere nearby too and in anybody’s book that kind of thing is too damned close to being a creepy stalker for comfort, Charlie. I told you: there is no us.”
“I’m not a stalker,” he said. “I’m just the only one who genuinely cares. One day you’ll be able to see the difference.”
§
He hung up, leaving me standing there with a dead phone to my ear, pretending not to be looking out of my front window as puffer jacket guy picked out his apple and headed inside to pay.
I knew that Charlie was just playing on my insecurity, making me feel vulnerable so that he could be my protector, but still, I checked the door of my apartment. It was shut, and the security chain was on. I stood there and looked around at my familiar surroundings. The full-length mirror, the over-burdened coat stand, the scattering of Post-it reminders on the inside of the door.
Nothing was amiss. There was nothing to suggest that anyone else had been here today.
Shades of Submission: Fifty by Fifty #1: Billionaire Romance Boxed Set Page 48