by Karen Swan
She gasped. ‘You . . . you knew?’
‘Alex, a blind man could have seen what was happening between you two.’
She gawped as he laughed. ‘I can’t believe you!’ she cried, smacking him on the arm.
‘Hey, I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially when it’s a mouth as pretty as that one,’ he grinned.
‘You are incorrigible,’ she giggled, going to move off, but he caught her by the elbow.
‘Hey, Alex . . .?’
She looked back at him.
‘Just don’t hurt him, okay?’
She blinked, feeling the smile fall from her lips. ‘No.’
Callum winked and she slipped out through the barn doors, heading for the nearest toilets in the canteen; a path had been shovelled through the snow and rubber matting laid down. There was a short queue to get in, and a surprised pause stalled the conversation as she walked in. Was it the red, she wondered? Or, as some of the women talked in excited whispers when she went into the cubicle, was it simply that everyone knew about her and the boss?
She fixed her face, aware of the sidelong glances in the mirror at her bespoke make-up, smiling politely at them all as she left. She heard them burst into excited gossip as she stepped back outside, her eyes falling to the lights on in Lochie’s office across the courtyard.
She picked her way carefully through the snow which came up to her ankles; if these heels hadn’t been ruined before, they certainly were now.
‘Hey . . .’ she said, peering round the door. ‘Oh.’
Two pairs of eyes looked up at her from the desk.
‘Ah, Alex,’ Sholto said, just as Lochie finished writing something and handed the sheet of paper over to him. ‘What perfect timing.’
‘. . . What’s going on?’ she asked quietly.
‘Lochie and I were just signing the termination contracts. He is officially, legally – and soon to be publicly – no longer our CEO,’ Sholto smiled. ‘Ordinarily, I would offer some platitude that he will be sorely missed, but I think that would offend our mutual intelligence.’
‘But he only resigned yesterday,’ Alex said, feeling uneasy at the sight of both their smiles. ‘How could you have the paperwork—’
‘Drawn up so quickly?’ Lochie drawled, putting the cap back on his pen. ‘Sholto’s never one to leave things to chance, are you, cousin? You can be sure he’s had this paperwork in his drawer for quite some time, just itching for the day when he could get me to sign.’ The words tripped off his tongue with wry sprightliness; he looked like a man set free from chains.
Sholto, not bothering to deny it, offered his hand and Lochie shook it, both of them magnanimous – almost cordial – now that the deal was done. ‘Well, I must say, you’ve done well out of me, Lochlan. Golden parachute is an acutely apt term for your exit package. It’s a soft landing for you.’
‘Actually, thanks to Alex, I’ve landed on my feet,’ Lochie said, talking in code, his eyes settling upon her.
Sholto followed his eyeline and nodded. ‘Well, they did tell me she’s the best.’ He walked over, his small eyes beady upon her. ‘Actually, it’s fortuitous you’ve stopped by, Ms Hyde; you were next on my list to come and see, anyway. This is for you.’ Reaching into his inner jacket pocket, he held out a slip of paper for her. She didn’t need to look at it to know what it was. ‘Congratulations on a job well done.’
Alex nodded, watching as Sholto walked out, taking the air in the room with him. She realized she was shivering and she knew that Lochie was staring at her, a question already hanging in the cold night air.
Slowly, she looked back at him. He was ashen-faced as Sholto’s words – ‘They did tell me she’s the best . . . congratulations’ – his victorious manner, began to percolate.
She shivered, hugging her arms around herself in distraction, trying to hold back the boulder Sholto had just pushed on his way out. ‘Gosh, it’s cold in here,’ she said, her voice uncharacteristically faint. ‘Shall we go back to the reception? They’re getting ready to do the speeches, I think.’ She glanced at him, and away again. ‘. . . Lochie?’
‘Congratulations?’ His stare was hard. Scrutinizing. ‘What’s he congratulating you for? You were brought in to save my job; I’m only out on a technicality, so why’s he . . . ?’ He blinked. ‘How is it a job well done if you didn’t get to do what you were hired to do . . . ?’ His expression changed; he got up from his chair and walked over, taking the bank transfer slip from her grasp as though plucking candy from a baby. ‘Unless you did?’
He looked down at it, time becoming elastic and stretching out as long as the six zeroes blinking back at him. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said finally, the words a breath as though they’d been punched up from his stomach. He shook his head, dropping it down, his hands on his hips, and the sight of him like that – like a god, defeated – brought a sob to her throat. Tears sprang to her eyes but she didn’t move a hair and he was quiet for a long time, the silence throbbing around them as his breath came in heavy waves. ‘So that was the game: don’t get him better – get him out.’ He gave a snort of disbelief. ‘Jesus Christ, I did not see that coming.’
‘Lochie—’
‘Uh-uh.’ He stopped her with a silencing finger held inches from her face, shaking his head, his eyes on the floor, still trying to think, to gather his thoughts. She bit her lip as she watched the betrayal bloom on his face like a stain. ‘“Oh, what a tangled web we weave,”’ he murmured. ‘“When first we practise to deceive.”’ His voice was quiet, slow, measured; shock slowing his words like a drug, betrayal a slow poison inking his veins. He looked back at her, his sudden gaze like a whip crack. ‘You played me from the beginning. It was all a lie, right from the off.’
‘No.’
‘No?’ he mocked, beginning to walk slowly around her, liking how it made her shrink, recoil. Forcing her into the low-power position, his eyes like knives on her body. ‘You said to me – and I quote – “I’m not the enemy, Lochlan.” Those were your actual words. In our first meeting.’
‘I didn’t know then. I thought— ’
‘What?’ he snapped. ‘What did you think, Alex?’
She looked at him. ‘I thought you were what he’d said you were. I thought you were dangerous and reckless and a liability.’
‘Oh, I am!’ he cried, his eyes shining with an anger that made him look half-crazed. ‘I’m all those things.’
‘No. You’re not.’ She shook her head. ‘I know you now.’
He stopped walking. ‘You know me now?’ His eyes were filled with scorn.
‘Yes.’ She could feel herself trembling under his contempt.
‘You know me now?’ He began walking again. ‘. . . You know me now.’ The change in his voice told her the notion had gone from a question to a fact. ‘And yet you still went ahead and did it. Even after I told you exactly what he’ll do if I go – what’ll happen to all those people, those families, their jobs . . . You still did it.’ He stared at her with a look of utter disbelief. ‘It’s all on you now. You know that, right?’
‘Lochie, please,’ she said, moving now, imploring him to listen, to give her the opportunity to explain. ‘You don’t understand. It was just supposed to be business. A straightforward deal to manage you out. It was never personal.’
‘Not personal?’ he whispered, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. ‘All your fucking talk about my trust issues and being abandoned by my parents, setting myself free, walking my own path . . . that’s not personal to you? Because it’s personal to me!’ he shouted. ‘I laid myself open to you, and all the while you were just scanning for pinch spots, trying to find where I was most vulnerable.’ He threw his hands up in the air, a hollow laugh escaping him. ‘Hey! I can hardly blame you – a cool million would be hard for anyone to walk away from. That I can understand.’ He grabbed her chin in his hands, forcing her to look at him. ‘But don’t try to pretend that you knowing me meant anything,’ he hissed, his breath hot on her
face.
Tears raced down her cheeks, free-flowing over his fingers. ‘I swear, I never anticipated us.’
‘No, you just didn’t anticipate getting found out. There was no “us” until I quit – you made sure of that. I could jump or be pushed but you made sure I wouldn’t be staying in my job and only once I’d earned you your million was there an “us”. You thought you could have your cake and eat it – have me and betray me.’ He looked her over as though she was filth. ‘I wonder if Sholto really knew what he was getting when he hired you, because up till then, they’d tried every trick in the book: provoking me, baiting me like some kind of tied-up dog, taking Skye from me, ruining that. Until they hit the bull’s eye – sending you and making me fall for a lie.’
‘It wasn’t a lie. I meant all those things I said. I do want better for you. I do think you needed to go. You were stuck in a stalemate.’
‘Stalemate?’ He let go of her as though she was tainted, diseased, dirty. ‘Well, guess what – we’re not there any more. It’s checkmate. I’m out. He’s won. You’ve won. This is your masterpiece, Alex. Whether it played out the way you imagined, make no mistake, we’ve all been the puppets in your game. You pull the strings and we dance, baby.’
‘No, you’re wrong. Everything that happened between us was real. I wanted you. I didn’t want to hurt you.’
He quietened. ‘And yet you did. The money meant more.’ He stared at her for the longest time, desolation in his eyes, and she could see he’d been on this path before; betrayal was nothing new to him. ‘I was so wrong about you, you know that? You have got it.’
‘G-got what?’ she asked.
‘The killer instinct, Alex. Sholto was right – congratulations.’ He took her hand and brought it up to his forehead, pointing it at him like a gun. ‘You took the shot and you got me, sweetheart. Right between the eyes.’
Chapter Thirty
Mayfair, London, Sunday 24 December 2017
‘Alex Hyde’s office.’
Louise Kennedy’s clipped voice pierced the silence of a thickly carpeted room whose still air was only otherwise punctuated by the deep perfume of lilies-of-the-valley.
‘No, I’m sorry, she’s not available. Who’s calling, please?’
Her French-manicured fingertips hovered, poised, above the keyboard, the cursor on the screen flashing as she awaited the name, hardly able to believe her bad luck that the phone had rung in the minute and a half she’d been in here. She’d only swung by to pick up the Fortnum’s gift bag she’d accidentally left beneath her desk on Friday afternoon, containing the all-important cranberry sauce for her mother. She should have ignored it, of course, but the habit of picking up on the first ring was a hard one to break.
‘I will need a name if she’s to—’ She was careful to avoid exhaling into the mic of her headset as the caller prevaricated, not believing her, not used to being told no. Her fingers twitched in the air as though twiddling a pen, restless to get on.
‘No, that isn’t possible, she’s not here.’ One threaded eyebrow arched as the caller’s voice became more strident. ‘I’m afraid that’s confidential,’ she said more briskly, more than used to dealing with self-importance. ‘But I can ask her to call you. Does she know what it’s in regard to?’ Her fingers twitched again.
Outside, the blue lights of a fire engine whirled past the mink-grey slatted windows, the bright sky throwing short shadows on the ground. Shoppers laden with last-minute emergency purchases walked past in profile, heads bent to their phones, shoes clicking on the pavements.
Her lips pursed as the caller talked. She had thought as much. ‘I see. So this is a new client inquiry.’ The woman’s presumptive tone had suggested deep personal acquaintance. ‘Yes, a lot of people know Miss Hyde . . . I’m sure, but I’m afraid we operate a waiting list and she doesn’t have any openings before June. Would you like me to book you in and we’ll be in touch nearer the time?’
Her eyebrows buckled as presumptive became didactic; the caller perhaps didn’t realize that no one got to Alex without first going past her. ‘Well, as I said before, Ms Hyde is away on business with clients but you are very welcome to call back at your convenience if you change your—’ Her finger hovered over the disconnect button.
Three, two, o . . .
Her hand dropped to the desk as though shot down, the words still ringing in her ears as though every single one had exploded down the line with a bang. She leaned forward on her elbows, concentrating harder as she stared at her reflection in the blank screen. There was a long pause.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said finally, an uncharacteristic waver in her cut-glass voice. ‘He’ll do what?’
The car had stopped at a set of lights, her face pale behind the glass as she watched the shoppers weave in and out of the city boutiques as though part of an elaborate dance; it was a wonder there weren’t more collisions, more standing on toes, she thought blankly, given the sheer numbers involved, but then she knew just how good people were (without even realizing it themselves) at reading micro signs in body language. She didn’t look at their faces, just their legs striding, bags swinging, gloved hands interlinked as they moved in couples and pairs and units. Happy, on the final push to Christmas now.
It was sleeting on the east coast and the wet flakes dribbling down the windows made the Christmas lights refract and dazzle hundreds of times over. In the end, she’d come over with a fishing boat, paying a handsome sum to get off the island and away, at last. There hadn’t been time to ring Louise – or rather, she hadn’t wanted even Louise to hear her in that state – and she’d simply grabbed a local cab in the port; the driver wouldn’t need to work for the rest of the week on what she was paying him to get her to Edinburgh airport.
The lights changed and the car began to move again. Her phone rang in her bag and she frowned as she saw the name on the screen.
She took a deep breath. ‘Louise, please don’t tell me you’re working today. You surely don’t need me to remind you it’s a Sunday and it’s Christmas Eve?’ She stared at the back of the headrest, trying to make her voice sound normal. ‘. . . Oh, I see. Well, as long as you promise that’s all it is. Even I’m not working today.’
She bit her lip, feeling it begin to tremble again. She pressed her index finger against her nose.
‘Yes, it’s done . . . Yes, thank you.’ Her voice wavered. ‘Mmhmm, I’m very pleased. I’m on my way to the airport now. We’re ten minutes away . . . No, Edinburgh. There was no availability at Glasgow.’
The words came out in a gabble, rising in tone, and she tipped her head back and held the phone away from her head for a moment, closing her eyes and taking another deep breath. ‘. . . Sorry, yes, I’m here. So what’s up?’
She frowned. ‘. . . Who?’
It was a moment before the name registered. Made sense. ‘Yes, I know him,’ she said slowly. ‘What does he want?’
She snorted as Louise explained. ‘. . . No, absolutely not. There’s no way. It’s Christmas Eve. I’ve been away for three weeks. I need to get home. I’m flying to Switzerland in two days and I need some time to just stop!’ Her voice had risen again and she dropped her head, squeezing her temples with her free hand. ‘Sorry, yes, I’m fine. I’m fine.’ She sighed. ‘If you could just call him back and explain that I’m now unavailable until the New Year—’
She frowned. ‘He’s done what . . . ? Oh Jesus.’
She gave an exhausted sigh and looked out of the window. The airport was signposted on the upcoming roundabout. This couldn’t be happening. But how could she turn away? ‘. . . Fuck,’ she hissed savagely, pinching her temples and closing her eyes. ‘Is there availability on the evening flights? Something around six?’ She swallowed and nodded. ‘Seven, then. Yes, fine. Get me on that and text me the exact address . . . Yes, I know I am. Okay, thanks . . . Oh and Louise, if I ever do make it back to London, schedule in a sit-down for the two of us in the New Year. It’s time we discussed a raise and getting you on th
e training programme . . . Of course I’m serious, I don’t know what I’d do without you. Happy Christmas.’
She leaned forward in the seat, the driver already indicating for the third exit to the motorway.
‘I’m sorry, there’s been a change of plan,’ she said wearily. ‘Could you take me up to Perth?’
‘Thank Christ you’re here,’ Daisy said, running down the steps to meet her as she paid the taxi an hour later. ‘We didn’t know who else to call.’
‘It’s fine. I was in the neighbourhood,’ she lied as Daisy threw her arms around her neck. ‘How’s he doing?’
Daisy shook her head. ‘Not good. Ambrose and Max are in with him now.’
‘Where are they?’ Alex asked, getting her shotgun from the boot and wheeling her suitcase with difficulty over the gravel.
‘Oh, leave that there, one of the boys can bring it up the steps later,’ Daisy said, waving it away. ‘They’re in the library. The boys have been trying to keep him calm but he’s desperately agitated. It looks like he’s lost the whole bloody lot. Everything.’
‘Okay,’ Alex nodded. ‘I’ll talk to him.’
‘Hey—’ Daisy put a hand on her arm, stopping mid-step and looking at her with sudden concern. ‘Are you okay? Has something happened?’
‘What? With me?’ Alex asked in surprise, amazed anyone would have even noticed her pale complexion and lacklustre energy. ‘God, no, I’m fine,’ she said, smiling as she told the most common lie in the world.
‘You look pale.’
‘Just cold. And tired. I’m looking forward to getting home.’
‘I bet,’ Daisy agreed, starting up the steps again. ‘When are you off?’
‘Tonight,’ Alex said, generously omitting the fact that she’d been an hour from getting on the plane and escaping from here once and for all.
They walked through the doors against which it had all started with Lochie – the mistletoe was still hanging, of course – and into the panelled hall that she had never expected to see again. Two young boys and three girls – perhaps five, six, sevenish? – thundered down the stairs in full yell, the girls pointing Nerf guns at the boys who were racing ahead and firing neon-green pellets at their backs.