Topspin

by Soliman, W.

  Some of the men joined them before Claire could respond. Predictably, the ensuing conversation centered upon Ed’s failed coup. She took little part in it, instead mulling over what little she’d learned from Angela, focusing more on the things she hadn’t said. Despondently she concluded that Rod was every bit as dangerous as she’d supposed, and that he’d expose their affair out of spite if Claire didn’t go to him that afternoon.

  Angela got up to leave for work. The owners of the salon allowed her to work flexible hours that enabled her to fit some tennis in during the week. The Country Club didn’t stop to consider that some of its members might actually have to work for a living when scheduling tournaments and social tennis sessions on week days. Jack left as well. He appeared distracted and Claire managed a moment’s sympathy for Angela. She was taking an age to unlock her car, casting frequent glances over her shoulder, but Jack drove off without seeming to notice her transparent attempts to attract his attention.

  Claire returned her mind to her own problems and knew she couldn’t risk going anywhere near the apartment. She didn’t trust Rod’s motives any more than she trusted her ability to resist temptation. On a whim she drove to Shanklin and indulged in a little retail therapy. She switched off her mobile, wishing she could turn her mind off as easily, and searched her favorite boutiques for something to cheer her up.

  It was almost four o’clock when she got home. Retrieving a quantity of carrier bags from the back seat of her car, Claire took them into the house and dumped them on the hall table. She had no clear idea what she’d bought, how much she’d spent, or even what shops she’d visited, but was proud of herself for having done the right thing. Rod would have got the message loud and clear, and there was nothing he could do to force her hand.

  It was then that she noticed an envelope on the hall floor, addressed to her in handwriting she didn’t recognize. Idly she picked it up, slit it open and pulled out a large photograph.

  “What the…”

  At first she didn’t realize what she was looking at. Two men in the throes of having sex with one woman. What did that have to do with her? Only gradually did the truth dawn, hitting her with the force of a malevolent tornado. She staggered to the chair in the hall, sweeping the carrier bags off the table in her haste to sit down before her legs gave way beneath her. She recognized the two male torsos in the picture, even though their faces were out of shot. Rod and Paul. The woman was looking directly at an overhead camera, her head thrown back, her expression one of torturous pleasure, eyes half closed as the men ravaged her body.

  She turned the photograph over to see that a few lines had been scrawled on its back.

  It’s up to you to make sure Angela keeps her appointment with me, it said. If she doesn’t, then the next photograph in this series, along with the cassette of your voice saying how unsatisfactorily he makes love to you, will be sent to your husband’s office. It was signed not by Rod, but by Paul.

  Pulling herself to her feet, mortified and appalled, Claire just made it to the hall cloakroom before falling to her knees in front of the toilet and retching again and again. She heaved until her stomach was empty and her throat red and raw from vomiting.

  Chapter Ten

  CLAIRE RUBBED VIGOROUSLY at the cloakroom floor. Long after she’d eradicated all traces of her vomit she still continued to scrub like a woman demented, working out her anger and agony in a frenzy of activity that ruined her manicure and left her fingers throbbing and swollen, red and raw. As soon as she’d stopped being ill she’d grabbed the photograph, torn it into tiny pieces, and tried to flush it down the loo. But it took ages to disappear. A gurgle of the half-empty cistern, a bruised palm, and soggy fragments of the picture resurfacing as though to taunt her every time she pounded the flush handle were all she had to show for her impatience.

  Her brain shut down, unable to cope with the knowledge that she’d been deliberately duped for reasons which obviously had something to do with Angela. She poured more bleach into the toilet bowl and wielded the brush as though it was a lethal weapon, wishing she could obliterate the last few weeks of her life as easily. If she dwelt upon the way they’d set her up, training cameras on her as they persuaded her to participate in acts of ever-increasing depravity, she’d probably have a seizure. She’d willingly agreed to play their games, there was no escaping that, but what she hadn’t done was volunteer to be filmed in the act.

  Eventually she gave up on her cleaning and slumped against the pristine tiles, panting with exhaustion, unable now to stop a torrent of possibilities crowding into her previously vacant mind. Sorting through them, it didn’t take long for a sense of self-preservation to surface and for Claire to consider ways to extricate herself from this mess. Paul was obviously behind this whole set up, which would explain the staged conversation they’d instigated while engaged in the act. She’d thought at the time that it turned them on as much as it did her, forcing her to talk about the inadequacies of her sex life with Joe, but knew now that they’d tricked her into repeating his name and hers in order to record her replies.

  As her brain struggled to assess the possible reasons for Paul’s actions she was aware of her body coming out of its traumatized state and a slow, burning anger surging through it. She welcomed the sensation and the feeling of unnatural calm, able at last to focus on her quandary without the queasiness returning to her stomach. This whole business had something to do with Angela, and there was only one way to find out what that something was. She would have to confront her friend, somehow find the words to explain the nature of her indiscretion, and take a chance on Angela respecting her confidence. Shame at the prospect of having to make such a confession briefly nudged its way into the forefront of Claire’s mind, but she was too intent upon damage limitation to waste time dwelling upon the embarrassment it would cause her. Taken over by a frenetic energy and the need to get the humiliation over with, she swung into action.

  Claire went to her room, threw her soiled clothing into the linen basket, and dressed in cut-off jeans and the first top that came to hand, her mind now in overdrive. If Paul and Rod had gone to so much trouble to set her up and had done so in order to manipulate Angela, then she must have secrets that she wouldn’t want in the public domain either. Perhaps that was why she was so reluctant to take Rod back.

  Claire reached for her car keys, determined and composed. All that mattered was her survival. She was beyond worrying about tarnishing her image. She glanced at her watch. It was still only just after five. Less than an hour since her world had fallen apart. The dog was whining round her legs, anxious for his evening walk. With an apologetic shrug she let him out into the garden and absently watched as he hurtled off in hot pursuit of a couple of birds that were lazily pecking at the flower beds. They took off with a loud clatter of wings as the dog approached, landing on the garden wall and peering down at him with a marked lack of curiosity.

  As luck would have it, Angela was just finishing a massage when Claire arrived at the salon. Claire waved to her through the partition and mimed that she’d wait for her. Five minutes later, Angela was at her side.

  “Hi, Claire. This is a nice surprise.”

  “Hi, are you busy?”

  “No, I’ve just finished my last booking. Do you need a treatment?” She smiled. “You’re in luck, we’re open late this evening and I don’t have anyone else due just yet. Good God!” She appeared to notice Claire’s unmade-up face and puffy eyes for the first time. Claire was well aware what a wreck she must look and meekly submitted to Angela’s critical gaze, only looking up when it came to rest on her ravaged hands. “You obviously do need help in a hurry. Whatever happened to you?”

  “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  “Well, yes, but be prepared for interruptions. I’m here alone and someone might come in on spec, so I can’t leave the premises.” She stood up, ushering Claire toward the back room. “Come on, we can talk in here.”

  They settled down in the st
aff room, Claire accepting a glass of water at Angela’s insistence, even though she was convinced she’d choke if she tried to drink it.

  “Now, come on,” Angela said, “out with it. Something’s obviously upset you but it can’t be as bad as all that.”

  Claire burst into tears. Angela stroked her back and made soothing noises as she handed her a box of tissues. “Oh, Angie, how I wish that were true,” Claire said, gazing into her friend’s bewildered face and wondering why it kept swimming in and out of focus. “I’ve been such a fool.”

  “I doubt that it’s as bad as all that. What have you done? Had a row with Joe?”

  “If only it were that simple. No, I’ve been a prize idiot and jeopardized everything I have, and for nothing.”

  “Good God, Claire!” Angela covered her hand with her own. “You’re starting to frighten me. Whatever are you talking about?”

  “It’s too sordid for words.” Claire abstractedly shredded a tissue between her fingers, not noticing when the bits fell all over the floor. “I hate myself!”

  “That’s a bit dramatic. Come on, you’ve obviously come to tell me about it, so you might as well spill the beans. Perhaps I can help in some way. I’m not easily shocked, you know.” She smiled, her attempt to lighten the mood making little impression on Claire. “Anyway, whatever it is, you can bet the farm that I’ve been there before you.”

  Claire took a deep breath, aware that she couldn’t keep on prevaricating. Talking it through with Angela had seemed like the logical step, but sitting here now, on the receiving end of her friend’s compassion, caused the enormity of her actions to finally hit home. For the first time she appreciated that it wasn’t only her family which was likely to be crushed by the fallout. Angela and the twins were in the direct firing line, too.

  “Claire?”

  She had to say something and so went for the first thing that came into her head. “Angie, why won’t you have Rod back?”

  Angela’s smile faded. “Is this about Rod?” She examined Claire’s face, gulping in obvious revulsion at whatever it was she saw there. “You’d better tell me everything,” she said in a glacial tone.

  This wasn’t an encouraging start, but then what else had Claire expected? Instant forgiveness? In a detached voice she explained to Angela how she’d first seen Rod working on the building site when out walking the dog. She glamorized it a little, making out that he’d pursued her and she’d reluctantly agreed to have a drink with him, just to get him off her back.

  “One thing led to another,” she said, unable to meet the hostility in Angela’s eyes, “and, well, you know…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Go on.” Angela bit off the two words as though they would sting her lips if she allowed them to linger there.

  “Well, I’ve never done anything like it before,” she lied, allowing the tears to flood her eyes again, “and I was disgusted with myself afterward, but somehow I couldn’t seem to keep away from him. Whenever he said he wanted to see me I always told myself I wouldn’t go.” She sank a little lower in her chair. “I suppose I was just weak. But no one was supposed to get hurt. I was lonely,” she added defensively, “what with Joe working so much and Chris being less reliant on me these days. Besides, I thought Rod would be gone again soon and no one would be any the wiser.”

  “I dare say you did.”

  “I certainly didn’t suspect that he was your husband.”

  “Which would have made a difference, I suppose?”

  “Of course it would! I told you, I don’t make a habit of this sort of thing, and I’m not desperate enough to steal someone else’s guy.”

  “So why are you coming to me with this now? You don’t strike me as the type who thinks confession is good for the soul. Something else has happened, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes.” And in a subdued voice, looking everywhere except at the rigid set to Angela’s features, Claire told her about Paul’s sudden appearance and his contribution to the proceedings. A loud hiss escaped Angela’s lips at the mention of his name.

  “And I suppose he filmed your little escapade and is now attempting to blackmail you into doing something for him?”

  “Yes, he filmed it,” Claire said, surprised. “You obviously know Paul.”

  “Oh yes, I know Paul, all right,” she said through gritted teeth. “What do they want from you? Money in order to keep quiet?”

  “No.” She sighed. “If only it were that simple. Rod told me on Friday night that he wanted me to meet him today but, having discovered he was your husband, obviously I didn’t go. He said that if I didn’t he’d tell Joe about our affair, but I didn’t believe he’d go that far.” She paused, fumbling for another tissue and noisily blowing her nose. “Clearly I underestimated him because when I got home today there was a photograph pushed under the door.” Claire met Angela’s eye for the first time, guilt and shame forming the bedrock of her expression as she tore her thoughts away from her own dilemma and considered what her confession must be doing to her friend.

  “But that’s not all,” she continued, her words tumbling past her lips in her anxiety to get the conversation over with. “On the back of the photo was a note saying that if you didn’t agree to meet Paul, then the next photo would be delivered to Joe, along with a tape of my voice talking about my sex life with him.” Claire was crying again, her eyes too blurred to notice the revulsion in Angela’s expression. “Angie, what am I going to do?”

  “The bastard!”

  “I’m so sorry, Angie.”

  “Where’s the photo now?”

  “I destroyed it.”

  “I can’t believe they set you up so easily. You of all people, Claire.”

  “Did they set me up deliberately, or was I just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Why would they pick on me, a complete stranger? What would they hope to gain from it, that’s what I can’t figure out.”

  The incandescent rage in Angela’s expression caused Claire to shiver. “They’ve done it because Paul wants to see me about something and I’ve refused to meet him.” She paused, lost in reflection. “I should have anticipated he’d pull a stunt like this.”

  “How could you possibly have anticipated that he’d get Rod to pick me up?” Claire frowned. “Why would they go to so much trouble? It must be pretty important to them. I just don’t understand any of this.”

  Angela sighed. “That’s because you don’t know Paul. He has total domination over Rod and can get him to do anything he wants. He’s the type of guy who somehow engenders complete loyalty in the people he takes up with. Don’t ask me why. It’s just the way it is. Rod sort of looks up to him like a big brother.”

  “But if Rod wants you back, seducing one of your closest friends is hardly the best way to go about it.” Claire was already absolving herself from blame by clinging to the idea that she’d been duped into going with Rod. “He must have known you’d find out sooner or later.”

  “It probably wasn’t supposed to go this far. Paul likes to be prepared for all eventualities, though, and I expect you were his last ace in the hole. No pun intended.” Angela’s expression remained set in stone despite her feeble attempt at a tacky joke. “Anyway, like I said, Paul rules Rod’s life and Rod will do anything he asks of him.”

  “Oh, Angie, what am I going to do?”

  “What am I going to do, don’t you mean?” Angela glowered at Claire. “Isn’t that why you came to see me, hoping I’d meet with Paul and get you out of the mire?”

  Angela’s icy sarcasm jolted Claire out of her self-absorption, causing her head to jerk up and a fresh wave of shame to hit her broadside. Angela stared at the wall in front of her, her expression giving nothing away. Claire knew she was exploiting their friendship, all but forcing Angela to confront a situation she would clearly prefer to avoid.

  “I’m sorry, Angie.” Claire reached across to take her hand. “I didn’t mean to sound so self-centered. I know I’ve landed my mess in your lap, and if you don’t wan
t to see Paul then I’ll understand.” Although, of course, she wouldn’t. Her whole future rested in Angela’s hands now and, somehow, she had to convince her to go ahead with the meeting. After all, what harm could come to her in a public place? “But if you could bring yourself to help me out, I swear I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

  “It’s all right, Claire,” she said on a long sigh. “I guess I’ll have to see him. He’d have worn me down somehow in the end. If it hadn’t been through you, he’d have managed it some other way.”

  “I feel dreadful about what I’m putting you through.”

  “It doesn’t matter, stop beating yourself up. I’ve said I’ll help you, so you’ve got what you came for and can stop feeling sorry for yourself.” The words were spoken with resentment, which Claire supposed was nothing less than she deserved. “Anyway,” Angela added, moderating her tone and flashing a humorless smile, “millions of women have flings. You just chose the wrong time and the wrong guy, that’s all. Stop thinking about yourself and worry about keeping Joe happy.”

  “That’s my only concern.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it is. Now.”

  “Ouch. I guess I deserved that.”

  “You did.”

  “So what happens now?”

  Without responding, Angela pulled out her mobile and dialed a number—Rod’s, presumably. He obviously answered straight away, but Angela didn’t give him a chance to speak.

  “You bastard, how could you let him do it?”

  Angela held the phone away from her ear and Claire could hear his response.

  “It wasn’t meant to get this far, Angie. And when he suggested it after you wouldn’t see him, I begged him not to do it.”

  “Oh, well, that’s all right, then,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “If you’d just agreed to meet him and listen to the proposition he has for you, then none of this would have been necessary.”