‘Let me get you another. White wine?’
‘Yes please,’ said Charlotte.
While he was gone, she blew her nose, composed herself as best she could; when he returned she was smiling at him coolly.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘only three-quarters of an hour late. Not worthy of an apology, obviously. Don’t worry, Gabe, I don’t have too terribly much to do this evening.’
He looked genuinely puzzled.
‘I said I might be late,’ he said. ‘How’s Grandpa?’
‘Not very well,’ said Charlotte. She was very nervous; she realized her hand was shaking. She took a swig at her glass, almost gulping it down; then realized with horror it was half empty.
‘You’ve obviously been drinking halves of bitter,’ he said, noticing. ‘How’s England?’
‘Wonderful,’ said Charlotte. ‘It’s marvellous to be back home.’
She looked at him and smiled radiantly; he smiled slightly uncertainly back. There was an expression at the back of the dark eyes that she couldn’t begin to read.
‘And the London office? Everything OK for you? I’m sorry it’s not doing better.’
‘Gabe,’ said Charlotte with an effort at dignity, ‘I just don’t know why you have to say things like that. Knock everything that isn’t Praegers New York. The London office is doing just fine, we’re making loads of money, and I’m personally –’
‘Hey,’ said Gabe, ‘get down off that extremely high horse, will you? I’m not knocking anything. I’m just playing back information. I genuinely thought you were having a tough time over there.’
Charlotte stared at him. ‘Why?’
‘Well, that’s what the word is. All over our building. London isn’t making out. May have to close. Send over reinforcements, et cetera, et cetera.’
‘Well it’s a filthy lie,’ said Charlotte. ‘I just don’t understand it.’
‘I think I could begin to,’ said Gabe. ‘Cheers. It’s nice to see you. Even if you have rounded out a little.’ He grinned at her. She scowled back at him.
‘You certainly know how to make someone’s evening,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ he said. ‘You haven’t got any less touchy, have you?’
‘Gabe, I’m not known as touchy in any other company,’ said Charlotte with an effort at sounding lighthearted. ‘I do assure you it’s entirely a change that you wreak in me.’
‘Well I’m extremely sorry,’ he said, and clearly didn’t mean it. ‘It just slipped out. I didn’t mean to offend you.’
‘Perhaps we’d better change the subject,’ said Charlotte.
‘Perhaps we had.’
There was a silence. Then she said, ‘Freddy is definitely up to something. He told Grandma he’d told me about Grandpa.’
‘Did he? Little squirt.’
‘And there’s something else,’ she said, ‘Geoff Robertson, that’s the family doctor, says he gets called almost every day by Chris Hill or Chuck Drew or Freddy, about how Grandpa is.’
‘How sweet,’ said Gabe.
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘Chris Hill is definitely negotiating with Gresse,’ he said. ‘Definitely.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I have a girlfriend who works there.’
‘Oh,’ said Charlotte. She felt sick again, and drank the rest of her wine very quickly.
‘Apparently he’s about to sign.’
‘I just can’t make it out. Why should he move now?’
‘God knows. But they’ve got some incredible package for him, and their chief trader’s talking to Lehman.’
Charlotte sighed. ‘Well, maybe he’s on the level. Maybe he’s a good guy.’
‘If he was a good guy, he’d stay on.’
‘That’s true. What does your dad think?’
‘He doesn’t think anything. Keeps his nose clean, my dad does. Always has. Retirement only a few years off, you see.’
‘That’s not a very nice thing to say about your father.’
‘Charlotte darling, we’re not all loyal little family sycophants like you.’
Charlotte stood up. Her eyes were blazing. At that moment she could happily have killed him.
‘How dare you,’ she said, and her voice was shaking, and for once she didn’t care. ‘How dare you. I am not a sycophant, and I might say, Gabe Hoffman, I have never noticed you turning down the opportunity to work at Praegers, to take the King’s shilling, and follow in your father’s footsteps. If you disapprove so much of nepotism, why aren’t you working at Lehmans or First Boston? It isn’t just natural brilliance that’s got you where you are, in fact, I’d say natural brilliance was probably the least crucial ingredient in the extremely nice little brew you’ve concocted for yourself at Praegers. I’m going home, Gabe. I don’t know why you ever bothered to arrange this evening. You obviously don’t want to see me. Please let me know if you hear anything else about my grandfather. Or perhaps if you do you’d better pass it on to somebody quite different. Nothing to do with my family. I’d hate you to feel you’d furthered the Praeger nepotistic cause any further.’
She turned and half ran out of the door, and up the steps into Hanover Square. She wasn’t quite sure why she was so distressed: she supposed she had simply forgotten how vile he was, how deeply he could hurt her. She had hoped, without realizing she had hoped it, that he had in some way come to reciprocate the way she felt, had actually wanted to see her, was concerned for her as well as for her family and the bank. Hurt pride was added to the usual pain. She started walking very fast in the direction of Wall Street and Broadway. She would get a cab home quickly and sit and talk to Betsey and Fred. That would make her feel better, soothe her battered ego. They loved her.
She cut into New Street and then suddenly realized that it was quite deserted, very dark and that she was being followed. A tall youth in a donkey jacket and a woollen hat was uncomfortably hard on her heels. Oh for God’s sake, Charlotte, she thought, you’ve just got reinfected with New York paranoia. In England this would just have meant there was someone walking very close behind you.
Nevertheless she speeded up her pace; the youth did likewise. She felt fear now, start in her belly, clutch at her guts; sweat broke out in her armpits. She walked still faster, stumbled, almost fell; he was virtually on top of her.
She righted herself, pulled her coat round her: ‘Hey,’ said a voice, ‘hey lady, what’s the hurry?’
She ignored him, walked on; he was beside her now, tall, threatening. He looked down at her, and his eyes were very glittery, evil in the lamplight.
‘I said what’s the hurry.’ He put out his hand, took her arm.
She shook it, trying to get free. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘Ah!’ he said, in a phoney British accent. ‘You’re English. How is the dear old mother country?’
‘It’s fine,’ said Charlotte. She was still hurrying along. Maybe if she could keep him talking, she could get up into the comparative safety of Broadway.
‘Good.’ Suddenly, with a speed and force which shocked her, he pushed her into a doorway. She tried to scream; he put his hand over her mouth. It smelt. She twisted her head, backwards and forwards.
‘Please let me go,’ she mumbled against the hand. ‘I have some money. Please let me go.’
He moved his hand from her mouth, put it round her throat, pinning her to the wall. He reached with the other hand for her bag, pulled out the wallet, stuck it in his pocket.
‘Can I go?’ said Charlotte. ‘Please. I won’t say anything.’
‘Hey,’ he said, ‘you’re a real upper-crust little lady, aren’t you? I always fancied a bit of class. I’m in no hurry. No hurry at all.’ He still had her pinned to the wall of the doorway by her throat; he pushed his face into hers. His breath was foul; his lips slobbery. She screamed briefly, and then his hand was on her mouth, silencing her. His hand was groping at her jacket now, seeking out her breast; panic engulfed Charlotte.
‘Please don’t,’ she said, ‘please.’
‘Oh, but I want to please,’ he said, and stood back from her grinning. Charlotte summoned all her strength, raised her leg and kneed him in the crotch.
‘You bitch,’ he said, but it didn’t do what she had hoped, make him loosen his grip, he pressed harder on her throat, started moving his hand into her coat again.
She felt herself shrinking, shrinking, high up within herself, unable to think, unable even to fear, just revulsion, revulsion and nausea; and then, just as she knew there was no hope, no escape, he was pulled off her, and somebody, somebody large, strong, furiously, viciously strong, had him on the ground, and was belting him, punching him, and saying ‘You filthy, filthy fucker’ over and over again. It was Gabe’s voice: Charlotte stood there, staring at him, watching him punch the youth, turn him over, pull his hands together behind his back, drag her wallet out of his pocket.
He turned his head and looked up at her, briefly, and she could read nothing in his face, nothing at all, except a terrible, tender concern.
‘Are you OK?’ he said.
She nodded helplessly.
‘He didn’t … ?’
‘No. No he didn’t do anything. Really.’
Gabe picked the man’s head up almost casually and then knocked it down onto the street again.
‘You silly bitch,’ he said almost conversationally. ‘You silly silly bitch. Walking around in these streets as if you were in some goddamned English village. It’s time you wised up.’
‘Gabe,’ said Charlotte, scarcely able to believe she was hearing this attack, when she had been so frightened, so near to being raped, ‘Gabe, how dare you –’
‘Oh, shut up,’ he said, and stood up. The man was whimpering now and half conscious; Gabe threw him into the doorway.
‘Come on,’ he said, taking Charlotte’s arm. ‘Let’s get you home. This joker isn’t going anywhere.’
‘Shouldn’t we call the police?’ said Charlotte.
‘Yeah. We’ll go to the office. Are you really OK?’
‘Yes I’m fine. But won’t he run away?’
‘Well, he doesn’t look too well up to running. If he does, he does. I can’t leave you here, and I can’t take him with us. Come on, let’s get to the office. All right?’ She nodded, speechless. Her legs felt very weak suddenly. Gabe put his arm round her waist, helped her along; she kept stumbling.
They reached the bank; the night porter let them in.
‘I’m just going up to my office,’ said Gabe briefly.
‘Right-oh, Mr Hoffman. Still a lot of people up there.’
‘Gabe,’ said Charlotte, ‘let’s go to my – my other office. It’ll be quiet there. I don’t want a fuss.’
‘Won’t it be locked?’ he said.
‘I have a key.’
They went in, turned on the lamp. Charlotte sat down rather feebly in one of the low leather chairs by the fire. It had been waiting for her, this room: her equivalent of the Heir’s Room, a rather grand, beautifully furnished, clearly important office. Fred had shown it to her on her first morning before whisking her down to her grey pen. ‘You can move in when you’ve earned it,’ he had said. She had never so much as taken a call in it, but she had stood in it from time to time, wondering if she would ever be able to claim it.
Gabe called the police.
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I’ll come and meet you. Corner of Beaver and Broad. Five minutes.’
‘I’ll be back,’ he said to Charlotte. ‘Don’t go away.’
She managed a half smile. ‘I won’t.’
He was back in fifteen minutes, closed the door behind him. He had a bottle of brandy with him.
‘OK. They carted him off. No problem. I thought you might need this. Got any glasses in here?’
‘Yes, I think so. In that cupboard there.’ She pointed to a cupboard by the fireplace; it had several glasses in it, of varying sizes.
He poured a large glass and handed it to her. Charlotte gulped at it; it was soothing, warming, welcome. Gabe looked around him, at the panelled walls, the flower-filled grate, the large desk, the Indian carpet.
‘Nice little place you’ve got here,’ he said.
‘Oh Gabe, don’t,’ said Charlotte wearily, ‘I can’t help it and anyway, you know I never used it.’
‘You will though, won’t you?’ he said and there was a wary expression in his eyes.
‘Yes, I suppose so. I hope so. Oh – let’s not talk about it. I feel awful.’
Gabe gave her some more brandy, then stood by the fireplace looking down at her. ‘Like I said, you’re a silly bitch,’ he said suddenly, ‘that was asking for it, you know. Fucking asking for it.’
Something exploded in Charlotte: something vast and sad and horrific in its strength. She stood up and turned on Gabe, started to pummel at him with her fists, sobbing at the same time.
‘Shut up, shut up, shut up,’ she screamed through her sobs. ‘You’re harsh and cruel and vile. How can you talk to me like that when I – when I –’
‘When you were mugged,’ he said, and he was shouting too, ‘yeah, and when you could have been raped or killed, and all for nothing, the price of a bit of stupidity. You women never learn. Never.’
He grabbed her fists and tried to hold them still; Charlotte pulled them away.
‘I hate you,’ she said, ‘I hate you so much.’
She turned away from him, dashing her hand angrily across her eyes. ‘Don’t,’ he said, and his voice was different, quieter suddenly, almost gentle.
‘Don’t say that. I don’t like it.’
‘Oh you don’t? Why not? Does it not suit your great arrogant fucking ego?’
‘No,’ he said, quieter still. ‘I don’t like it because I love you.’
A shock went through Charlotte, a physical, shuddering shock. She felt it in her head, and she felt it deep within her body, and she felt it in her heart. She turned round slowly and stared at him; his face was white, his eyes very dark. He looked at her deeply, heavily seriously, almost sombre; he raised his hands towards her, then dropped them again.
‘Gabe,’ she said, aware even as she spoke that it was a cliché, an absurd cliché, ‘Gabe, did you say what I thought you said?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘What I said was I love you.’ He scowled at her. ‘Unfortunately.’
‘Why unfortunately?’
‘Why unfortunately: because you’re so difficult, and spoilt and self-centred and arrogant and bossy and moody and –’
‘I’m difficult and arrogant!’ said Charlotte. ‘Gabe Hoffman, you should take a look at yourself. I have never known anyone more difficult and arrogant than you – oh for God’s sake, what am I saying, what am I doing?’ She went over to the door, locked it, and stood with her back to it, looking at him. He had taken his jacket off, and his shirt was crumpled; his face seemed more lined than usual, his hair more wild. He was still scowling, but his eyes had softened.
‘I don’t know quite what to say,’ he said.
‘Nor do I,’ said Charlotte.
Gabe stepped forward, stood looking down at her. He was close enough now for her to touch him; she put out her hand tentatively, lacked the final courage and dropped it again.
‘Dear God,’ he said and picked up the hand, turned it over and kissed the palm. Very slowly, very languorously. Charlotte closed her eyes briefly, felt the hot molten sensation of desire invade her. Gabe took her face in his hands, and kissed her, on the mouth. His lips were very heavy, very strong, his tongue slowly exploring her mouth; Charlotte kissed him back, gently, almost nervously at first, then with a growing, surging urgency. She was still dazed, shocked, she still dared hardly move.
Gabe put his arms round her, pulling her against him. He was kissing her harder now, saying her name, over and over again; his hands began to move down her, caressing her back, lingering on her waist, pausing, then moving again, down to her buttocks. She pushed against him, grinding
her hips, gently but urgently; she felt as if her desire was a live thing in her, reaching out, searching for him; she felt him respond, and pulled her mouth away from his, smiling up into his eyes.
‘Thank God for my carpet,’ was all she said, and lay down on it, holding out her arms.
He began to unbutton her shirt; she sat up impatiently, tearing it off, and her bra too, lay down again, her eyes fixed on his. She could feel her nipples hard, erect, and at the same instant, as his mouth went to work on them, his tongue teasing them, playing with them, a heat, a liquid heat reaching down from them into the deep, aching depths of her. He pulled away again, started removing his own clothes; he was naked now, and as she stared up at him, at his heavy muscular body, the dark hairs covering his chest, his arms, the flat hard stomach and the jutting penis, standing out from a great mass of pubic hair, she moaned, moaned with longing and pleasure and disbelief at what was happening to her.
He knelt again and pulled her skirt down, off, and then her panties; he kissed her breasts again, then her mouth, her shoulders, her neck, frantic as if he could not have enough of her. And then he bent further, kissed her stomach, her thighs and then tenderly, very slowly moved again, lay above her, and she could feel him there, there, oddly gently, urging at her, sweet and slow. ‘I love you Charlotte,’ he said again, and she thrust at him, suddenly, swiftly, crying out, and he was in her, invading her, filling her, with a huge, strong, wild pleasure. She could feel herself beginning to climb now, already reaching, grasping for release; her body, moving with his, sweetly rhythmic, slowly at first, then faster, faster, advancing, retreating, rising, falling. She wrapped her legs round him, round his waist, feeling him deeper still; a shot of pleasure so bright, so violent she was almost afraid of it.
He was still suddenly: then pushed, pushed, reaching into her, seeking out her climax, drawing it from her; she felt the final climb, the great triumphant soaring into pleasure and she arched her back and cried out again and again, feeling him respond, now following her, now leading her and then at last he groaned and spasmed and slowly he was still.
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