‘You work too hard,’ she admonished. ‘Writing all these TV shows. Anyone famous in your latest one?’ she pried.
‘One or two,’ he said.
‘Well, you know my hero. Sean Connery,’ she said. ‘Did I tell you I once nearly got a part as his Bond girl? Diamonds Are Forever. Missed out by a whisker.’
‘Their loss,’ said Adrian, thinking, How many more times will I hear this story before I die? and then, uncharitably, Actually, she’ll probably die first – she’s at least two decades older.
‘You on your own?’ asked Geraldine, somewhat pointlessly as there was no one else in the car.
‘Carrie’s in London with Rory.’
‘Well, in that case, I’m bringing round a casserole. Tonight—’
‘Thank you, but there’s no need,’ he instantly protested.
‘Nonsense. Can’t let you starve. I bet you never leave your desk.’
‘Honestly, Geraldine. I’m only here for the afternoon.’
‘Oh, right. Well, OK, then.’ She looked put out, as if his plans had no right not to fit in with hers.
‘But it really is very kind of you. I’ll never forget your lamb and rosemary. Best I’ve ever tasted.’
She thawed a little then. ‘You’re not the first to say so,’ she said, pleased. ‘Maybe I’ll keep an eye out, in case you find yourself staying the night. I always go past your place on my evening stroll with Poppy.’ She indicated the pug, attached to the end of a lead. ‘If there’s a light on, I’ll knock!’
He forced a smile and said how lovely that would be and then managed to extricate himself so he could continue to his house. As the electric gates shut behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief, then parked the car and walked up to the front door.
He let himself in, and removing his coat, he saw he still had half an hour before Emma turned up. He decided to fix himself a drink. A large rum and Coke, very large. He bloody deserved it after the week he’d had.
He made his way to the kitchen and reached for the door handle when he suddenly staggered sideways and clutched the back of his head in agony. He cried out and instinctively raised his hands to protect himself, while simultaneously trying to turn and face his assailant. His eyes widened in bewilderment as he saw Emma holding something metallic and heavy above her head. Before he could work out what was going on, she brought it down again and he crashed to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
SIXTY-SIX
Saturday 24 February
Emma stood there for a moment, breathing heavily. She’d been horrified when Adrian had turned, dazed, to face her. In a panic, she’d lifted the juicing machine and brought it down a second time before he could properly steady himself.
She waited to see if he’d get up, but he didn’t move. Emma put the juicer on the floor and tentatively went up to him. Not so close he could grab her, but near enough so she could see he was still breathing. Thank God. It had been a risk, knocking him out, but she could see no other way to get him where she needed him.
She braved it and quickly nudged him with her foot. He didn’t stir. There was no time to lose, so she took off his shoes and threw them aside, then emptied his pockets. Taking hold of his hands, she dragged him into the dining room. Despite his slight build, he was a dead weight and it took more effort than she’d thought. Finally she got him in front of the open fireplace, where she took the handcuffs she’d hidden in the coal bucket, attaching one end to his right wrist and the other to the fixed heavy iron ring that was screwed into the brick fire surround for the tongs. Only then did she feel a sense of relief.
Now all she had to do was wait for him to wake up.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Saturday 24 February
Adrian’s eyes started to flicker around mid-afternoon and Emma’s first reaction was nervousness. She watched warily from the dining-room chair she’d placed a good distance from him as he opened his eyes, clearly bewildered by his position on the floor. Wincing, he tried to sit up, but his arm pulled tight on the handcuff, which jolted a sense of urgency in him. He lifted his head and that’s when he saw her and she could tell everything came flooding back.
‘Emma . . . ?’
He tried again to get up off the floor and she waited while he looked at his hand and saw the handcuff.
‘What the . . . ?’ He turned back to her, flummoxed. ‘What are you doing?’ Then a pain gripped his head and he groaned and held it with his free hand. ‘What did you hit me with?’
‘The Deluxe NutriExtractor.’
‘My freakin’ juicer?’
‘There’s some tablets,’ she said, pointing beside him to where she’d placed a plastic beaker of water and a blister pack of paracetamol she’d found in the bathroom cabinet. ‘And an icepack,’ she added, which was a packet of frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel.
He stared at her. ‘I don’t understand. Why am I tied up?’
‘Because we need to have a serious talk.’
‘You don’t need to handcuff me to the fireplace so we can have a talk.’ He pulled at the cuffs again, more strenuously this time, and Emma watched anxiously, but they held.
‘OK, joke over,’ he said. ‘I think it’s time you let me go.’
She didn’t move.
‘Emma, stop dicking about,’ he said tersely. ‘Unlock these things. Where did you get them, anyway?’ He stopped as he recognized them. ‘Seriously? These are from my office? They’re props?’ He tugged at them again, yanking furiously.
‘They won’t break off,’ said Emma. ‘They’re the real thing, remember? You told me. Now listen,’ she continued. ‘This is what I want. You need to transfer half a million pounds straight into my bank account. We’ll call this my share of Generation Rebel. This is extremely generous on my part, as I know for a fact you will have got a huge amount more than that. I also want you to write a letter of apology saying what you did, how you stole my entire TV series and how sorry you are, and I want this to be a full-page advertisement in Broadcast magazine. Then we can talk about the new idea we’ll work on together.’
She saw he was staring open-mouthed at her. Then he started laughing. Hearty, mocking guffaws. So be it. If that was the way he wanted to play it, he could sweat it out for a while. She got up and headed for the door. Instantly, the laughing subsided.
‘Where are you going?’
‘You need to think about what I’ve just said.’
‘Emma? Emma! Fucking let me go!’
She closed the door behind her as the shouts got louder and angrier, and thought that actually it would do him good to realize she was prepared to leave him to rot in the house. She slammed the front door shut and headed down to the beach.
It was dusk by the time Emma returned. She walked back through the estate, hood pulled right over her head as always. She glanced up at the houses as she went, mentally trying to measure their distance from one another. Were they far apart enough that the neighbours were unaware of what went on in each other’s homes? She knew Geraldine had seen a light on in Adrian’s house once when she’d been out walking her dog, Emma’s own torchlight, and that had made her alert Adrian to burglars, but what about sound? As she rounded the bend towards Adrian’s house, she suddenly stopped dead. There was someone up ahead. Speak of the devil – it was Geraldine herself, ringing the buzzer on the wall persistently. Shit.
She fixed on a smile and threw back her hood so as not to look intimidating as she hurried up to her. Geraldine was dressed for the cold in a woollen coat with brass buttons and a hat. Between her gloved hands she held what looked like a steaming casserole dish.
‘Hello,’ said Emma.
Geraldine looked at her but didn’t register who she was. Emma was under no illusion that she would recognize her: Geraldine came across as the type of person who only made a point of remembering those who might be useful or important to her. She tucked the casserole dish under one arm and pressed the buzzer on the wall again. Emma inwardly flinched. She strained her ears, listen
ing for Adrian’s shouts, but, thank God, could hear nothing.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked. ‘I work for Adrian.’
Geraldine looked at her a little more closely this time. ‘Is he in? The lights are on. He said if the lights were on, I should pop round.’
‘He’s working,’ said Emma.
Geraldine buzzed again, which irritated Emma. She wanted to swipe her hand away. She looked up at the thick pines that encased the house on either side of the drive gates. ‘I don’t think he’ll come to the door. If he’s working.’
‘But it’s me. We spoke this afternoon.’
Adrian must have bumped into her on his way to the house, thought Emma. ‘You know what he’s like. Gets so engrossed.’
‘Can still hear the door, though,’ said Geraldine, peeved.
Why wouldn’t this woman take a hint, thought Emma, and know when she wasn’t welcome?
‘Is that for him?’ she asked, nodding at the casserole dish.
‘Well, it was,’ said Geraldine.
‘I’ll take it in. He’ll be delighted.’
Geraldine looked over at the house again. ‘I was rather hoping to do it myself.’
Emma sniffed. ‘Is that lamb? Adrian’s favourite. It’s Geraldine, isn’t it? Adrian’s mentioned you many times.’
The woman had been about to ring the buzzer again but paused. ‘Has he?’
‘Oh yes. In fact, and I shouldn’t really be saying this, but between you, me and the gate post, he finds you something of an inspiration.’
‘He does not,’ said Geraldine, but Emma could see she was pleased.
‘Seriously. The idea he’s working on at the moment. I do believe . . . Oh, I’m not supposed to say . . .’ She left it hanging and sure enough, after a moment, Geraldine took the bait.
‘What?’
Emma pretended to wrestle internally with herself. ‘Oh, I can’t, can I? Would you promise not to say I told you?’ Geraldine smiled. ‘He’s based the main character on you,’ Emma stage-whispered. She shook her head, chiding herself. ‘There, look, now I’m in trouble.’ But she was smiling.
‘Has he really?’ asked Geraldine, surprised, but this news was stoking the fire of her ego faster than a match to a pile of dry leaves. Her eyes shone. ‘Well, I never.’
‘You do have the look of an actress about you, actually,’ said Emma. ‘Have I seen you in anything before?’
Geraldine’s eyes grew wistful and bright, and Emma could see a story coming. She put out her hands and quickly spoke: ‘Shall I take that in for you? He usually breaks late, around seven or eight, and I know this’ll be a godsend. I’ll make sure it’s left warming in the oven for him.’ She held out her hands further and Geraldine reluctantly passed over the casserole dish. Emma smiled. Waited. After another moment, Geraldine took her cue.
‘Right, well, who am I to interrupt the maestro at work?’ She went to walk off but then turned back. ‘There are three bay leaves in there,’ she said. ‘You might want to let him know. They’ll need to come out before—’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll make sure it’s done,’ called Emma, and waited until Geraldine was far enough away that she could slip safely through the automatic gate without being followed.
As she walked up the drive, getting closer to the house, she started to hear him. The sound was still muffled from where she was, but he was shouting, yelling for help, telling anyone who cared to listen that he’d been tied up. She opened the front door, slipped in and slammed it shut behind her. He fell silent at the sound.
Emma put the casserole dish in the kitchen and lifted the lid, sniffing approvingly at the contents. Then she went to take off her coat. She took her time.
When she was ready, she went into the dining room. Adrian was exactly as she’d left him, except perhaps angrier. He shot her a venomous look from across the room.
‘There was someone at the gate,’ he said.
‘There was,’ agreed Emma. ‘Geraldine, with what looks like a very tasty casserole. And FYI no one can hear you from the road. It’s the long driveway,’ she explained, indicating with a flourish of her arm, ‘and the tall pines. The combination of distance and sound barrier means you are rendered silent.’ Actually, this was something of a relief. Emma had been a little concerned that any noise from the house might be overheard, but now, with Geraldine stopping by, her fears had been put to the test. She had nothing to worry about. No one could hear him.
He glowered at her, but as the news of his isolation sank in, she thought she detected a flash of fear too. ‘You cannot do this,’ he spat. ‘I demand that you let me go.’
‘Not gonna happen, Adrian. Not until you do as I ask. Give me the log-in details to your bank account, let me transfer the money. Honestly, this could all be over so quickly.’
‘You’re deranged.’
‘Nope. Just getting what I deserve. You need to understand, Adrian, that you have screwed up my life. You took my project. You got me sacked. You threatened me if I didn’t have sex with you. You’ve ruined any future I have with Carrie.’
‘She wouldn’t work with you again anyway.’
This made her so incredibly sad she didn’t like to dwell on it. But it wasn’t the limit of the awful things he’d done to her. There was Elaine too, thought Emma, as the guilty demons spread their dark wings up inside her again. He’d made her think Elaine had told Carrie they’d slept together. He’d directly had a hand in Elaine’s death, but she knew she couldn’t say anything as he’d know she’d been there, shouting at Elaine, when she’d had her heart attack.
‘Do you really think this is going to work?’ he said angrily, pointing at his tethered wrist. ‘You really believe this is a sane, reasonable plan?’
‘It’s not that far-fetched. Happens in telly all the time.’
‘Telly’s made up!’
‘It’s a reflection of true life.’
He exploded then, incredulous fireworks erupting out of him. ‘You’re living in some sort of fantasy world, Emma!’
She decided it was time to give each other some space. She closed the door on his shouting and expostulating, and went into the kitchen. She ate a portion of the casserole, carefully removing the bay leaves first. It was as delicious as it had promised to be. Afterwards, she saw it was getting late and Emma yawned and stretched in her seat. It had been a long and busy day, and seeing as Adrian clearly wasn’t going to give in to her demands just yet, she might as well go to bed.
She went upstairs and got a pillow and a blanket from his room. She took these and a fresh beaker of water into the dining room, throwing the bedding on him, and then while he was distracted, she placed the beaker on the floor within reaching distance.
He was agog. ‘What? This goes on?’
She sighed, a little irritably. She’d surely made it clear enough. ‘Do I really have to spell it out again?’
‘Where are you sleeping? Upstairs? In my house?’
‘Technically speaking, you could argue it’s mine,’ she said, and then fed up with his overdramatic, incredulous scoffing, she left the room.
She lay in bed for a while, reading a book she’d borrowed from the bookcase on the landing. It was hard to concentrate, though, as Adrian was so noisy. She found herself questioning her moral conscience. Was she right to do this? But then she kept coming back to what he had done. He had screwed her over again and again. She had to salvage what was left of her life.
She turned off the light but could still hear him shouting downstairs. Mostly profanities, calling her a ‘fucking bitch’ and suchlike. Half an hour later, it was still keeping her awake. For Christ’s sake, she was tired! She threw back the covers with annoyance and went downstairs in the dark, stopping in the kitchen first.
Then she opened the door to the dining room and from behind her back lifted the wooden pizza peel over her head and brought it down on his body. Not hard enough to really hurt – this was more a lesson in who was in charge.
‘Ow!’ he yel
led in indignant outrage.
‘Please be quiet,’ she said. He instantly opened his mouth to protest and so she raised the pizza peel again. All of a sudden he hesitated, and then eyed the pizza peel warily.
‘I am going back upstairs and you are going to stay quiet,’ said Emma.
His mouth opened again and she lifted the peel. This time it had the desired effect: he shrank back and she felt a satisfaction at that, at his humiliation, lying on the floor at her mercy.
Then she went back to bed, and thankfully, Adrian stayed silent.
SIXTY-EIGHT
Saturday 24 February
Emma had hit him with the wooden pizza peel. The one he’d got from the specialist kitchen shop in town two summers ago and had insisted on using at a party they’d had to celebrate his birthday. They’d invited down their London friends, able to put them up in this new beach house with all its spare bedrooms. He remembered being so proud, feeling so generous and sharing the love – ‘There’s loads of room!’; ‘Just bring yourselves!’ – and secretly revelling in the fact he could accommodate eight extra people in his new house and not have to pull out one sofa bed. They’d all oohed and aahed enviously and he’d basked in the security of knowing he’d made it. His success had secured this second home, and all its aspirational extras – the view, the private gated position, the culinary gadgets – made him feel that cooking, and life in general, could only be easier, better. He’d be healthier now he had a Deluxe NutriExtractor. The built-in thousand-pound pizza oven and accompanying peel meant he’d get crispy-based pizzas every time – no need to order delivery anymore, so ultimately it would pay for itself.
Adrian remembered it had been hot that Saturday in August and they’d all sat outside on the new patio set. The wine had flowed and everyone had wanted to talk to him about Generation Rebel, the hit show that had taken the nation by storm. How brilliantly it was written, how he had captured a moment, how he was dealing with the new-found fame. He’d been happy to let the conversation revolve round him and answer the questions of how he spent a writing day, what inspired him, how he came up with his dialogue. It reinforced in him the confidence that he had actually done it. Him, Adrian Hill, who had floundered near the bottom of the pond for so long. Being able to answer his friends’ questions with such flair and knowledge proved his abilities.
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