by Roger Curtis
‘And other things?’
Again the questioning look that was becoming habitual.
‘As you say, other things.’ He had been looking above her head but now his gaze descended hard onto her face. ‘Now how about you?’
She was prepared. ‘You remember my father died some months ago? Before that just a conventional upbringing in the country, quite devoid of interest. Good at school but could have done better, lucky in exams and reached medical school, somehow. The rest you know.’
‘Something tells me…’
‘That there’s a reason I sometimes go over the top?’
‘My goodness me, no. I’m a surgeon, not a shrink. I only dabble around on the surface, where I’m happy with everything in view.’
‘Something tells me…’
He became serious, appearing to sense a battle he might not win. ‘We all have skeletons, Sarah. Large benign ones, small threatening ones, ones that rattle, and well-oiled ones that creep up on you when you least expect it. Sometimes it’s best to let them rest, don’t you think? The superficial pleasures of life can be quite intense. Why should we not content ourselves with those?’
Edwin rose and walked behind her chair. He rested the palms of his hands on each side of her neck with the tips of his fingers entering the front of her dress. She closed her eyes as he explored between the cotton and the skin. Funny how that approach always seemed to work, the battle lost before it had been joined.
She felt the soft radiance of the fire as his cupped hands expressed her breasts. The warmth spread through her body, a surging force sectioning and extinguishing the part of her that wanted to offer reason as a defence.
What happened next was as unexpected as it was perplexing. Edwin called a name, his voice barely rising, as if to someone already present in the room. ‘Maia,’ he repeated, ‘come!’
A small door near the fireplace that Sarah had taken to be a cupboard swung open without a sound. A young woman of Asiatic caste in a clinging white gown stepped from the subdued light of another chamber. She was of medium height, with dark shoulder-length hair that framed an oval face of great regularity, without blemish.
‘Maia is from northern Thailand,’ said Edwin. ‘You can see how the Malaysian and Chinese influences each combine to obliterate the lesser characteristics of the other. She is beautiful, is she not?’
Sarah had never thought of her own attractiveness as a subject for comparison. It was a given right, to be used to advantage or as a tool when occasion demanded, but never to be called into question. Now she was confronted with a beauty that at least rivalled her own. For the first time that she could remember she felt a need to fend off a perceived disparagement. Edwin, to his credit, tried to allay her discomfort.
‘She is beautiful, Sarah, but she is also mute. Have you any idea how that changes things?’
The girl made no further move. She stood looking directly at them, a faint benevolent smile on her lips, passing no judgement.
For several seconds Sarah held her breath in anticipation. The unexpected relief she now felt was translated into a series of deep and involuntary inspirations that suddenly made her an accomplice to Edwin’s encompassing hands. It was a situation she had never encountered, even in dreams. Forgotten was her planned manipulation of Edwin’s attentions. Under the steady calming eyes of this slight girl the last thin veils of inhibition peeled away. A path had opened for the sensual enjoyment of the flesh, without guilt, without thought, for the future or for the past.
‘You will find it pleasurable to let Maia help prepare you – indeed us – for the evening. Assuming, that is, you wish to stay.’
The thought of flight had not occurred to her. But his remark opened a faint crack in the completeness of her abandonment, letting in for a moment the light of the outside world. She thought of Ali and Jazreel, and of a moment long past when Brian had alerted her, almost unwittingly, to Edwin’s darker interests. She glimpsed a means to pursue her own mounting fascination with whatever it was that seemed to link these diverse characters.
The sensual freedom engendered by the girl’s unswerving gaze had not lessened, but once again Sarah felt in control. She rose from her chair, twisting her body out of Edwin’s grasp so that she could see his face.
What she found there hardened her resolve, for Edwin’s eyes were pleading with her to remain. Only now did she appreciate the gamble he had taken in setting up this scenario to entrap her.
‘Edwin, I want so much to stay, truly, but it’s probably better if I leave now before something happens that each of us might regret.’
‘Sarah, you know that we can both live for the moment, without anything spilling out into our other, more conventional lives. I, because I have learned how. You, well, because it seems to be your nature.’
‘Edwin, the truth is… I wish to stay, really, but…’
‘But you are unsure. Let me suppose, it is still negotiable, is it not?’
‘Yes, yes, it is.’ She placed her arms around his neck so that her still bare breasts brushed his chest.
‘And what must I do? I believe there is little I would not do at this moment.’
‘Then you can promise to show me the Massingham Tower.’
Conflicting expressions of anger and resignation crossed his face. ‘That’s impossible. You don’t know what you ask.’
‘Edwin, nothing is impossible, and nothing is at risk. You know that I’m discreet.’
‘Yes, I believe you are but it worries me that you may just have a motive.’
Sarah squeezed her arms about his neck and laughed.
‘Nothing so sinister! Once Brian took me to Greenwich Park and we happened to see it through his telescope. What I saw fascinated me, Edwin, and curiosity is something I find difficult to live with.’
Edwin shrugged. ‘Then so be it.’
She saw him nod to the girl and closed her eyes. She was tired, with the helpless, delicious weariness of achievement. There was no obstacle now to the enjoyment of what was to follow.
She scarcely noticed that her dress had fallen to the floor.
6
Alan Murphy was standing just inside the tea-room door when Sarah swept in from a session in theatre with Brian. He fell in behind her in a wild parody of her quickstep at the ball, not noticing Alice cutting across on her way to the coffee machine.
Alice picked herself up from the floor. ‘Damn you, Alan.’
‘That wasn’t funny, Alan,’ Sarah said. ‘You could hurt someone doing stupid things like that.’
‘Then you shouldn’t provide me with the material, should you? By the way, I’ve got a present for you. Sort of an exchange, you see, if you get my meaning. It’s on my desk next door.’
‘Intriguing,’ Alice said.
‘Then you get it for me, there’s a sweetie,’ Sarah said wearily. ‘If we don’t humour him there’ll be no end to it.’
Alice came back clutching what in other circumstances might have been a small round tin of sweets wrapped in pink tissue paper and tied with a red ribbon. Both women recognised the items as surgical packaging. Alice was curious. ‘May I open it for you?’
‘You won’t deprive me of any pleasure.’
‘You’re right about that.’ Gingerly Alice handed her a glass pot containing some sort of pathological specimen, pinkish-white and ragged in the fixative.
‘What’s that?’
‘Read the label.’ Alan sounded like a child at Christmas.
‘Gordon. Died… ’ Sarah thrust the pot into Alice’s hands. ‘Sick, sick, sick!’
Alice glared at Alan. ‘Won’t you ever stop?’
Fleeing into the corridor Sarah nearly collided with Brian returning from the theatre. ‘That man’s not fit to be a doctor!’
‘Oh, really? I thought we
were turning him into quite a useful surgeon.’
‘Not if I have anything to do with it. You’ll see!’
Brian cautiously entered the tea-room.
At lunch-time Brian found Sarah alone in the cafeteria, gazing at the far wall. In front of her was an untouched bowl of soup. He set down his tray opposite her.
‘May I join you?’
‘The others haven’t, so why should you?’
He sat and began eating, all the time looking down at his plate. Then he said, ‘It seems that little fracas with Alan has left you somewhat isolated. They think you over-reacted.’
‘The clown seems to think he’s impressing me and can’t get it into his head that he’s not.’
‘Maybe it’s the only way he can think of to establish a relationship.’
‘Balls.’
‘Sarah!’
It was not the first time she’d seen him embarrassed by indelicacy in women. Could she never control herself, think ahead sometimes? ‘Sorry. Look, changing the subject, you promised to take me out to dinner, remember?’
Brian looked puzzled. ‘I thought you’d taken up with Edwin.’
‘Oh, not in the way you think. We’re only friends.’
‘You are? Well, yes, then why not. I’d like that. How about Thursday. The rota says we’re both off that afternoon.’
‘Sorry, going shopping. Well, sort of shopping.’
‘Surely you can put that off.’
‘Perhaps I don’t want to.’
‘What’s so special…’
‘Well, if you must know, Edwin is taking me to the Massingham Tower. There, I’ve said it. Now you know.’
Brian whistled softly. ‘How did you persuade him to do that?’
‘Blackmail!’ No, that was too extreme. ‘A kind of blackmail, anyway.’
Brian looked worried. ‘I’m sorry to say I find myself believing you. Be careful, Sarah. I know you think you can take care of yourself, but be very careful.’
‘Funny. You’re the second person to tell me that.’
‘And the first was Ali.’
‘How on earth did you know that?’
‘Because he came to see me after your meeting. Said he could see destruction in your eyes. You know he’s something of a clairvoyant?’
‘I didn’t even know you knew him.’
‘I… um… treated his child once. Or rather Jazreel’s. You see, a year ago she was quite a close colleague. Until she flipped.’
Sarah grasped his wrist and stared at him, forcing him to look up. ‘Do you know the reason?’
‘I wish I did. I don’t believe anyone does.’
‘Except Edwin?’
He looked at her sharply. ‘I really wouldn’t know.’
It was the first time Sarah had seen the building close up, in daylight. From the pavement the dull chequers of red brick and black glass rose in regimented columns to terminate many floors above in a low balustrade. It was only when she crossed the road and walked backwards for many yards down a side street that she realised the building continued upwards as a jumble of brick structures and aerials. Behind them she could just make out the top of a vast bluish-grey dome.
You will meet me in the vestibule off the street, Edwin had told her, though I might as well tell you that members normally enter by car using a hidden tunnel beginning some blocks away. Unfortunately the members only rule is inviolable and guests are no exception.
She had expected some compromise once within the miserable entrance. There was not even a hint of sophistication. Anyone remotely curious about the building would have had their interest stifled by the slate-grey matting carpet and reception desk in cheap teak laminate. The negativity seemed calculated. The role of receptionist had been usurped by two black-clad security guards, one reading the Mirror, the other the Sun. At first they ignored her. Then one looked up and pointed behind her.
She turned in time to see the elevator light click on. Before the doors had opened even an inch a shiver of anticipation passed up her spine. And there was Maia, quite motionless, looking at her with that same giving expression and benign smile that was still lodged in her memory. The clinging white gown had become a smart beige suit that might in other circumstances have set her apart as a successful business woman. Sarah suppressed an urge to hug the doll-like creature.
Maia held out her left hand: not for Sarah to grasp, but so that she might see what was written on a tiny conversation pad attached to the wrist by a fine gold chain. She recognised Edwin’s spidery hand: I am unwell and hope to see you later. For the moment go with Maia and she will introduce you to Preston, who manages the business side of things.
Inside the lift only the possibility of a hidden camera prevented Sarah from touching her. But Maia, apparently sensing this, laid her hand lightly on Sarah’s arm. Sarah wanted to grasp the little pad and write upon it – anything to establish some sort of dialogue. But she could think of nothing that was not banal. It saddened her that, in spite of their previous closeness, they had yet to share a single conceptual thought.
At the tenth floor Maia indicated the way with a motion of the hand that was as perfect in its geometry as the opening and closing of a fan. Mindful of her own relative clumsiness, Sarah held back from going ahead and walked beside the girl.
They came to a short flight of semi-circular stone steps more in keeping with an Italianate garden than a southeast London interior, and climbed up into… daylight? It seemed strange that in the two minutes or so they had taken to get here an overcast sky had given way to what seemed to be bright sunshine.
Maia stood aside to let her go ahead. Just before she reached the top Sarah looked back and was disappointed to find that the girl had disappeared. A sign on the far wall at the foot of the stairs caught her attention: It is suggested that Friends might not wish to pass beyond this limit of pleasure.
There was no choice but to go on. As her eyes drew level with the topmost step a wonderful scene unfolded before her. What at first had seemed to be open sky was actually the vast translucent shell of the dome she had glimpsed from the road. This finding was based more on deduction than observation. The only evidence was the join at its periphery just – and probably only – visible from this particular point of vantage. The light was of that rare luminosity she associated with Provence or the Greek islands. Beneath it, sparkling blue water lapped against stone terraces, wooden quays and sandy coves, all laid out with consummate taste; and surrounding all that a lush green swathe of palms and all manner of other tropical plants. Here and there small and isolated cabins, some in wood, others of stone, were festooned with purple and red bougainvillea. In the far distance a limestone cliff was peppered with steps and terraces and mysterious entrances. There were human figures too, but so well did they blend into the surroundings there was no suggestion of intrusion into the sense of peace and tranquillity. It was an island paradise inverted upon itself and so perfect in concept that the constraints of space were dispelled by the most subtle illusion.
At her feet irregular steps in the simulated rock-face led precipitously to a paved patio. Below her, pots of geraniums of that essential Mediterranean hue that was neither orange nor red surrounded a small round table in white and gilt with two matching chairs. The figure seated there looked up and rose to his feet.
‘May I help you down, Dr Potter? I’m Mark Preston.’
She almost stumbled and he grasped her hand. She wondered if the grip was exaggerated to impress. His face was wide and open, with blue eyes and an expansive guileless smile.
‘Edwin would not have thanked me for losing you so early in our relationship, Dr Potter.’
She did not speak until they were seated at the table.
‘Thank you, Mr Preston. Do you lose many visitors that way?’
‘Well, ac
tually, visitors are as rare here as some of the birds and butterflies you see flying above you. And members wouldn’t think of using it. Their entrance – far more grand – is on the other side of the lagoon. I consider we would be failing them if ever they felt the need to wander.’
Sarah’s face must have shown she had not yet come to terms with the incongruity of being in a London street only minutes before.
‘I have lots of questions, Mr Preston.’
‘Mark, please. And you are?’
‘Sarah. Sarah Jane.’ She had no idea why she had volunteered her middle name. Later she would come to marvel at the ease with which he used his relaxed manner to draw people out of themselves.
‘Sarah Jane.’ He said this condescendingly, as if rewarding a child by exaggerated approval. ‘Let me welcome you formally to the Massingham Foundation. I will be as open as I can, because Edwin has assured me of your discretion, but you must realise there are certain things I cannot tell you.’
Two tall glasses of a light straw-coloured liquid appeared on the table. She looked up just in time to see Maia disappear into a cleft in the rock-face.
He continued, ‘The Foundation includes diverse business interests, and is itself part of a larger enterprise about which even I know little. The headquarters are here in this building, and I am a senior manager responsible for… well, what you now see. It’s only a tiny part of the whole, in capital terms, yet the return on investment here has been quite exceptional. Perhaps you can guess why.’
‘The affluence of your customers, I suppose.’
‘Not just affluence, Sarah. Extreme wealth. Our mission here is to provide facilities for recreation – in a qualified sense of the word – which in terms of sophistication are unsurpassed, at least in this country and probably anywhere in the world. You can see the lengths to which we have gone to create this.’ He swept his hand towards the lagoon.
She was beginning to find the assurance of the man overpowering. There was a need to redress the balance.