by Lee Weeks
‘Wonderful, thank you.’ She smiled as she took it from him and took a slug. ‘This is a major outing for me. Don’t get out much.’
‘Apart from going to strange men’s houses and being paid for sex, you mean?’ He poured himself a glass of wine too and said a silent cheers.
‘One person’s house.’ She smiled and looked away.
‘You said it was your second time.’
‘I lied.’
He smiled. ‘So your career as an escort hasn’t had the best of starts.’
‘I did get paid three hundred pounds.’
‘I gave you that.’ He grinned.
‘Yeah . . . but it still counts.’
He laughed. ‘I’m in credit, then.’ She looked up enquiringly. He shook his head, grinning. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not my style.’
‘Have you ever tried it?’
‘What . . . paying for sex?’ He nodded. ‘Yeah . . . when I was young and with the boys . . . got to admit to doing it but not sure what the outcome was – was too drunk. Woke up with the condom still on so I guess we can be sure I didn’t catch anything.’ She laughed. He realized it was a long time since he had heard a woman laugh. ‘So you stay at home most days and do what?’
‘Sell things on eBay.’
‘Entrepreneurial type, then.’
‘I try.’
‘You make enough to earn a living?’
‘On a good day.’
‘Have you always been self-employed?’
‘No. I was a nurse once, many years ago.’ Nikki smiled. She had concocted the story late the night before and as she said it out loud for the first time it had a clichéd feel to it. But she knew that it was better to stay in the ‘almost truth’ zone than venture into completely unknown territory. If he wanted to know anything medical she could more than hold her own. She was taught by her father. But she hoped she didn’t need to worry about that. She could see that she’d already begun to charm Mr Hart. ‘I married a doctor. We couldn’t have kids. I just hung around at home waiting for him to come back every day, trying to please him. In the end he left me for another doctor. Said our lives were dull. I had to agree. I didn’t want anything from him. I agreed to the split. I agreed to the fact that he had earned all of the money in our marriage. Of course I didn’t realize we’d been living way beyond our means and there were more debts than anything else and they were all in my name. He moved to France with his new wife and here I am. What about you, Mr Hart?’
Carmichael sat down opposite her. ‘I’ve just arrived here in London. Been living out of a suitcase. I’ll be happy to put down some roots. I’m waiting to get a licence for a new nightclub, takes a while. What did you want to tell me about Sonny?’
‘I saw the news. Sonny’s body being pulled out of the Thames.’ Carmichael didn’t comment. He drank his wine. ‘Was that your business with Sonny? Was it getting girls for your club? I know that’s what he does, did; one of the girls who got me into escorting told me she used to date him.’
‘Your information?’
‘I haven’t really got any information. Just felt like seeing you, that’s all.’
He sat back to observe her. ‘Why?’
‘I wanted to say thanks.’
‘Thanks for what? You might have earned a lot more from Sonny.’
She shrugged and smiled. ‘Maybe but it didn’t suit me – escorting. I wanted to see you today because I need a job. I need a life. You’re new in town. You look like you’re going places. I do have a lot to offer the right man. It’s just that no one sees my potential.’ He smiled. ‘It’s not funny . . . I thought maybe I could be of use to you . . . I need a break. I need to get a job but I was never any good at cleaning floors or wiping kids’ noses. I’ve decided escort work’s not for me. I thought maybe . . . you know . . . we could see how it goes?’
‘You don’t know me.’
‘And you don’t know me. That’s the fun of it. I’m sick of my life. We’ve all got our regrets. I want a fresh start.’
‘I repeat, you don’t know me.’
‘You’re right, but I think it’s better not to delve too deeply into people’s pasts. I think it’s better not to ask.’
Carmichael sat back in his chair and studied her then smiled. ‘I don’t have time for relationships at the moment, not personal.’
Nikki laughed nervously. ‘Really? Now that’s a surprise. Yeah . . . you’re right: you don’t know me from Adam.’ She came over to him, leant over and kissed him: a soft kiss that closed his eyes and opened his heart valves; a feeling he hadn’t had in a long time: his heart responding to the beat of another’s. He slid his hands up over her hips as she stood in front of him. He was drowning in her kisses. His hands went to her waist and she undid her wrap dress for him. He pressed his face against the silk camisole beneath her dress and breathed in the scent of her warm skin. His hands slid up beneath the silk and cupped her breasts, warm, firm. It was a long time since he’d felt something so perfectly human. His fingers circled her hard nipples then he stood and pressed the small of her back to him and kissed the curve of her neck. He went to take off her silk camisole but she wouldn’t let him. He got to his feet and led her to the bed, then kissed her again and touched her with a slow soft touch. His fingers barely brushing her skin. He waited until her body took control, until it needed him badly, then he rolled onto his back, pulled her to lie on top of him, facing the ceiling, and entered her. Neither spoke as she moved her body and he stayed hard inside her, touching her with feather-light fingers. ‘Stay still,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Don’t move. I’m not going anywhere, just enjoy.’ His hands held her body and his fingers applied a gentle and increasing pressure between her thighs that sent shock waves through her body. He held her tight as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to let go. He stayed inside her as he rolled them both onto their sides. He smelt the scent in her hair and closed his eyes, feeling the kind of exhaustion that he had longed for on so many nights in the last thirteen years.
She held onto his arms around her. Then she lifted his hand and placed it on her breast and held it there. He felt her heart beat beneath his hand. ‘The way you made love to me . . . you knew what I needed.’
‘A fluke,’ he whispered into her ear.
She smiled. ‘Well it was a good one. How come you’re in this hotel bed with me? Can’t fathom you out. You’re Mr Tough guy . . . don’t mess with me . . . but inside you’re . . . different.’
‘Don’t be fooled by me. I told you I don’t have time for personal. You’re not exactly the straightforward kind yourself. You’re obviously well educated. You’re beautiful. You don’t have to be shy about your body. You feel like you’re lost.’
She pulled away from him and sat on the edge of the bed, her back to him. ‘Yes. I feel lost.’ She got up and went across to the chair where she’d put her clothes.
He lay on the bed and watched her get dressed. She picked up her coat from the chair. When she got to the door she looked back at him and lingered there with a smile.
‘Lovely to see you again.’
After she’d gone Carmichael lay back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling. He felt overwhelmed by a feeling of loss. He had not made love to someone like that since Louise. Why he had felt so much for a stranger, he didn’t know. He vowed to himself not to let it happen again.
As Nikki de Lange walked away from the room she felt in shock. She had hoped to get information from him that might say who he was but it hadn’t seemed to work out like that. He probably knew more about her than she did him. Her body had betrayed her. Her heart had taken over. Never before had someone made love to her like that. Never before had she let go enough to really experience it. There was something about him that was so familiar.
She took the lift down to the ground floor, crossed the lobby and walked along a busy Oxford Street crammed with Christmas shoppers. She gave up trying to hail a taxi and caught the Tube to Hammersmith instead, then she walked the twenty minutes to the M
ansfield hospital. She didn’t pass Ivy on reception; instead she walked around to the back of the building and through the delivery bays, then left to the door to the private ward. There she punched in her code in the keypad and opened the door.
She walked to the end of the corridor and into the room at the end. Inside was a different world. It was her world. She hung her coat on the back of the door and reached for her uniform. She took off her dress. Beneath her silk camisole a scar ran all the way down the centre of her chest between her breasts. She pulled on the short-sleeved blue cotton top. Then went across to her dressing table by the bed and picked up a band to tie her hair up.
The locked-in boy lay there and listened to the noises in his room. He knew she would be coming soon. He could visualize the room. He knew where the hand basin was, where the door was, where his Arsenal shirt was on the chair. He knew that on either side of his bed there were monitors that flashed and beeped and each one had a different sound as if they were talking to one another. He recognized the door opening, the sucking sound as the air in the room passed over his body in its rush to escape the prison where he seemed to have been for ever. He tried to talk. He tried to say that he was alive. No words came out. He wanted to scream out that he existed but then came the soothing sound of her voice. She sang to him as she washed his body and he loved the feel of her gentle hands on him. She talked to him about her life. Always the same story:
When I was your age I could run fast and swim to the bottom of the pool and hold my breath for ages. I didn’t have anyone to play with; I spent my days studying and at the end of each day, I would jump in the pool and swim and swim like a mermaid. But then I began to get short of breath. I got sick. I couldn’t swim anymore. I couldn’t run. I spent years trapped in a body that couldn’t do anything. Only my mind was free. I got sicker and sicker until I wanted to die but my father wouldn’t let me go. He brought me here to England and I was saved. I found a cure but it was never meant to last. So I came back here to find you. You are very special to me. You are my salvation.
Justin was agitated. He tried to steer his mind away from Nikki; it only made him feel more insecure. Right now he couldn’t afford to doubt himself. Sitting behind his desk, he opened his laptop and went through his emails. He had several messages from dating sites to respond to. He scanned through the women who had responded to his advances and chose one. She had written: Really love your profile. Thanks for emailing me your pix. I understand about the privacy thing. Anyway, you’re gorgeous!!!! Love to meet.
He typed out a reply:
You sound great fun. Let’s meet tonight.
Chapter 41
Carmichael came round from his doze on the bed to hear his Skype alert buzzing. Micky was trying to get hold of him. He reached beneath the bed and pulled out his laptop. Micky’s face filled a small square on the screen. Carmichael enlarged it. Micky had a newspaper in his hands.
‘You seen this?’ Micky turned the paper round so that Carmichael could see the headline.
Bloodrunners
ORGAN HARVESTERS
Monsters on UK streets.
It was seven p.m., Carmichael waited outside the Whittington pathology department and watched Harding emerge. He kicked his bike onto its stand. Harding looked up as she walked towards her car and saw Carmichael. She fished into her bag for her keys, then held them in her hand. Carmichael walked towards her. ‘You telling me you had no idea thirteen years ago that they were Bloodrunners?’ She flicked the button on her fob, the car chirruped into life. She felt a flutter of panic but did her best not to show it.
‘We didn’t know that then. It wasn’t a world we knew about.’ She looked at him. ‘You stay inside the law, otherwise you risk being part of the problem instead of the answer. We are doing everything, I promise you. I give you my word. Go back to your farm and wait.’ She looked quickly to her side; there was no one else around.
‘I waited last time and nothing happened. I’m not sitting this one out. You made mistakes then and you could make them now.’
‘There are lots of regrets. I promise you I’m going to do my very best to get justice for Louise and Sophie this time round.’
‘How do I know you won’t just protect your pals? You know people high up in the medical world. It takes that type of people to perform transplants.’ He stepped between her and the car. ‘Someone is performing these operations.’ She stopped, stared up at him, shoulders back. ‘A surgeon leaves his mark the way a killer does, the way he cuts – the butcher with his knife. You could take a guess at who you would get to do a heart and lung transplant, who you would choose to graft part of a healthy liver onto your pickled one, who you would choose to give you new kidneys.’
‘Nobody with ethics would condone such a practice.’ She tried to get past him. He stood in her way, hand on her car door.
‘But they might not know where the organs were coming from.’
She shook her head, flustered. She opened the car door. He stopped it from opening more than a few inches.
‘What about my wife? What did they take from her? What didn’t you tell me all those years ago?’
She bowed her head. ‘They took her heart. We had no idea why.’
‘From Chrissie?’
‘The same.’
‘Is there any way of finding out who had them? Can you find out who was waiting that matched my wife’s blood group?’
‘No . . . It has to be a match with blood, tissue, age.’ She looked up at him. His face was full of anguish. She shook her head but her hands were trembling. Her eyes full of sympathy for Carmichael who stood a lonely figure. Deeply violent, dark. ‘We had no leads then. Whoever they were they came and went just as fast. Look, Carmichael . . . I’m sorry to say it but Louise had a common blood group. She would have been useful for transplanting organs into a wide sector of waiting recipients.’
Carmichael bowed his head, turned and walked away.
Harding got into her car and sat for a few minutes, leaning her head back on the seat as she watched him go. She had to wait for her eyes to clear.
Chapter 42
‘Working nine to five!’ Tina sang along with Dolly Parton as she reached in behind the shower curtain and switched the shower on full blast.
Before she got into the shower, Tina pulled the string that switched the small fan heater on in the bathroom. She knew she wasn’t supposed to use it every time but tonight was a special occasion. She placed her large glass of Pinot Grigio, from the bottle Ebony had bought her for her birthday, on top of the toilet cistern and turned her music up; she’d got her music library on her phone. The quality wasn’t that good but it didn’t matter in the bathroom.
As she stepped in beneath the hot water she giggled to herself. She was so excited. She had finally been asked out by one of the men from the dating sites. At long last one of them had made the effort. She promised herself she would not make the mistake she’d made in the past of giving it away too soon. She’d done a lot of that after Don had left her. She’d wanted reassurance that she was desirable. She’d thought the more men she screwed the better she would feel about herself but she was wrong. She would also not make the mistake of talking about how Don had been a bastard and really hurt her. That was another thing people said she’d done and they didn’t like. She’d had a year off the sites. A year of soul-searching and a year of finding friends like Ebony and feck! it was a year since she’d had sex. She was practically a virgin again. Tina giggled again as she scoured her body with the scratchy sponge. ‘I deserve to be a size ten after this,’ she said to herself as she hummed away to the music and rubbed her fat bits vigorously with the exfoliator.
Two hours and most of the bottle of Pinot Grigio later, Tina sneaked a look at her date as they left the cab and walked towards the hotel entrance. Thank God I wore my Spanx pants! Her heart hammered beneath the chunky sweater dress. Shit . . . how lucky am I . . . friggin’ gorgeous. She couldn’t help but smile to herself.
T
he receptionist watched them enter. It was the graveyard shift at the Brunswick Hotel. She looked at the clock in the lobby above the dried flower arrangement. The time was 3.20 a.m. All the other residents were tucked up in bed. The hotel was a small one in King’s Cross. It wasn’t full. It wasn’t the best value or the best position for seeing the sights. It took the overspill from the better ones.
The receptionist smiled at the couple, nodding cordially. They crossed the empty lobby, their feet silent on the carpet.
Justin caught Tina’s glance and squeezed her around the waist. She was so glad he couldn’t feel the spare tyre that she’d put on since the break-up. It had been hard. She had been battling with low self-esteem. It had nearly broken her. She had had to leave her home, move into shared accommodation again. She had had to start from scratch. But now this man had done wonders for her since they’d begun emailing each other. He had made her feel alive again.
They stopped and she melted as his blue eyes met hers; with his gorgeous long blond hair and masculine shoulders he looked like a god.
She felt self-conscious. What was the receptionist thinking? That he was too good for her? The receptionist was beautiful, her glossy black hair pinned back elegantly, her lipstick in place. Maybe it was true – he was every woman’s dream man. They made their way up to the room. Justin slid his hand to her bottom and he squeezed. He seemed pleased with what he touched, she thought, but then again, she could tell he had also been watching the receptionist. She wasn’t kidding herself; something about this date seemed too good to be true. Now that Tina was on the way up to a hotel room to have the first sex since her husband went off with the girl from his work, she was thinking maybe she wasn’t ready.
Justin seemed to feel her tension, caught her looking back down the corridor as they neared the room. He gave her another squeeze.
‘You look beautiful. We’ll take our time, shall we? I’m looking forward to us getting to know one another.’ He stopped and held her close. ‘That’s what I miss most since losing my wife in the car accident, just holding someone close like this. Let’s just have a drink and a chat this time.’