by Ingrid Betz
“You can let me off at the corner of Western,” Wolf said, as though she hadn’t spoken. His blue eyes were guileless; there was nothing on his mind but getting home. Seconds passed.
“Unless for some reason you’re afraid of me?” he murmured.
Her lips tightened. She opened her bag and took out her keys. “Just this once.”
Wolf waited on the passenger side while she fitted the key in the lock. Under his breath he whistled the sharp-edged little tune the violins had played earlier. She slid behind the wheel. The lock on his side didn’t work and she had to lean across the seat to release the catch manually so he could get in. She asked herself why she didn’t just drive off and leave him. Was it possible that some part of her welcomed his attention? The idea filled her with self-loathing.
“Do up your belt. I don’t want to give the police a reason to stop us.”
“And why would that be?” he said.
Verena concentrated on backing the VW into the street. He was being smart, like Donny, she told herself; he couldn’t possibly know anything.
“Cool little car.” Wolf eyed the daisies in the flower holder. He reached out and turned on the radio. “Although usually when a girl offers me a lift, she’s more gracious about it.”
“I didn’t offer.” She switched the radio off; the news was on, talk about fighting in the Middle East. Those people brought their problems on themselves, the same as people here did. “You invited yourself.”
“Ouch. Make it hard for a guy. You’re still angry with me about the other night aren’t you?”
She accelerated to pass a van. “You’re lucky I agreed to take you at all.”
He threw back his head and laughed. The careless male energy of the sound reverberated through the car. “Francine didn’t leave you much choice, did she?” His eyes gleamed at her sidelong in the light of the dashboard while the male scent of him filled her nostrils. He had the type of personality that overflowed his own space and violated other people’s.
“She’s my boss.”
“You could have still refused.”
She took a corner without slowing down, making the tires squeal. She was driving too fast, taking chances. So much for not attracting the attention of the police.
“Although I knew you wouldn’t.” Wolf turned the radio back on; the news was over and an old Rod Stewart tune was playing. He turned up the volume. “In your heart of hearts you were hoping I’d ask. Am I right?”
She went through an orange light just as it turned red and had to swerve to avoid hitting a car starting across the intersection.
“Wrong!” she bit out. “You don’t know me at all.”
“Oh, I know more than you think. Next turn right, if you can manage it without taking out the curb. Question is, do you know yourself?”
She shot him a look of unconcealed dislike.
“Come up with me to my apartment,” he said, “and I’ll prove it to you. Slow down! How much wine did you have, anyway?”
She pulled the VW over to the curb. They were on one of the older residential side streets where houses were close to the street. Verena turned off the radio, keeping her finger on the switch.
“Get out,” she said.
“What?”
“You heard me. Walk the rest of the way.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No.” The engine idled while she waited. Wolf gave an exaggerated sigh. “Okay. If this is how you want to play it.” He leaned over and slipped his arms around her; the hard, muscular arms of a tennis player. Verena felt herself go rigid. His breath was on her face, hot and sour from the wine. “You’ve been watching me all evening,” he murmured in an insinuating tone. “Go on. Admit it. Your eyes nearly burned a hole in my slacks.”
Crass. Despicable. She found her voice. “Of course I’ve been watching you. You’re the enemy.”
“One way of putting it.” He laughed his careless laugh. “Francine and Alain aren’t the enemy but you watched them, too. Envious, were you? Jealous? Oh, I can read your face like a book.”
Shame loosened the lock on her limbs and she started to struggle. “Let … go … of me. I hate you!”
He unclipped her seat belt and pulled her close. The stick shift jammed against her ribs.
“You only think you hate me.” His voice roughened. “Here. I’ll prove it to you.” He pressed his lips to her face, to her neck—wherever he could plant his moist lingering kisses. His fingers slid up the back of her neck and threaded themselves through her hair. Another man pinning a woman in place, before he did the unspeakable to her. Verena set her jaw and clenched her teeth as his mouth found hers, but his lips were insistent. His tongue filled her mouth and she couldn’t breathe. She welcomed the sharp jabbing pain in her ribs because it forced her to struggle harder. She got an arm free, wedged her palm under his chin and pushed upward. Wolf made a choking sound. Abruptly he let go of her and sat back, coughing and massaging his throat. “What the devil is the matter with you?”
She tasted blood on her lip and wiped her mouth.
“You’re a lesbian, is that it?”
“No!” Shock made the word burst from her throat.
“Or else you’re frigid. One of those women who can only make love in their head. An ice queen. A man touches you and you freeze. ”
She stared at him and it was like being back that time with Asher in Port Stanley, when all she’d felt was the cold and all she could think of was how to get him to stop what he was doing. “I told you,” she hissed. “You know nothing about me. Leave me alone.”
“For crying out loud! It was only a kiss. If you’d just relax. Let yourself go. You might even enjoy it. ”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Just go!”
“There’s somebody else. Isn’t there?” She was silent, angry with herself for having gotten into this. Light shone across the sidewalk. The house beside them was only steps away.
“That guy waiting at your apartment the other night?” Wolf persisted. “The one old enough to be your father?”
“Of course not.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re not being honest. ”
“And you are? Using the LeClairs as a way to see me again. Then pretending all evening you’re not interested, so I’ll think it’s safe?”
“That bothered you, didn’t it? The fact that I ignored you.” Wolf hitched himself closer, his pupils gleaming. “I could tell. You are interested. In spite of what you say.’ Without warning he slipped his hand inside the neckline of her sweater. The feel of his fingers on her breast was like the first ripple of a black tide rising to drown her.
“I’ll scream.” She twisted away from him and worked the door handle. “I’ll ring the bell at that house. Say you assaulted me…”
He leaned across the steering wheel. “Verena. Wait! Be sensible!”
She scrambled onto the sidewalk and wheeled to face him.
“You don’t understand. I saw what they did to her. My mother.” The words tumbled out of her mouth in a high-pitched little girl’s voice that sounded nothing like her own. “I saw how they held her down. Five men. They called her a German whore and argued over who would be first. They dragged my father to watch. Then they ripped open her blouse and pulled up her skirt…”
“My God,” muttered Wolf.
“She wouldn’t stop screaming and struggling and they kept hitting her the whole time they were doing it. Taking turns until she couldn’t scream anymore.”
Wolf drew back and let himself out of the car on the passenger’s side. He stared at her over the roof. “I’m sorry … I had no idea…” He shook his head and backed away. Halfway to the opposite curb he swung on his heel and the sound of his footsteps picked up speed.
Verena, breathing hard, waited for the shadows to swallow him up. Inside the car she locked
the doors and sank back in the seat. She couldn’t stop shaking. She had never told anyone, not even Asher that time in Port Stanley. Only Borrowman had over the years guessed most of it. Taking her cellphone out of her bag, she pressed his number on the speed dial.
“Verena?”
“I… I…” She couldn’t get the words out.
“Verena? What is it?” His voice sharpened. “Where are you?”
“In the car. On my way home. From Francine’s.”
“What is it? What’s happened?”
A lump clogged her throat. “I … wanted to hear your voice.”
“For God’s sake what is it? Tell me! What can I do?”
She broke in while he was still firing questions. “Send me up north? Let me kill Li Chen?”
17.
THE SHAKING AND FEELING COLD to the bone brought it all back to her. Everything she thought she’d safely buried and forgotten.
It was November of the year before she’d bought her Volkswagen Beetle. She’d had to take the bus to get to the motel. Asher had picked Port Stanley because it was a tourist town, he said, and far enough away from London so that they were unlikely to be seen by anybody who knew Elaine.
Or anybody at all, she remembered thinking as she stared out at the deserted streets feebly lit by lamps just beginning to glow in the dusk. The good thing about going by bus was that it took the responsibility for reaching her destination out of her hands. All she had to do was take her seat and wait and, inevitably, it would arrive. Verena couldn’t say that she felt anticipation, more a kind of relief now that the whole thing would soon be over.
She asked to be let off at the stop nearest the beach, the only passenger to do so. “You sure?” grunted the driver. She nodded and waited for him to activate the door opener.
The cold hit her like a physical shock as she descended the steps. No, she wasn’t at all sure. There was no sign of Asher. She stood irresolute on the cracked sidewalk. Most of the buildings fronting the street were boarded-up. Shops and diners, cheap small places catering to the tourists who flocked to Port Stanley in the summer.
The bus left in a swirl of dust and exhaust fumes. Verena turned up her collar and started to walk. A row of cottages huddled in withered gardens, shuttered for the winter, sand drifting over their steps. Lake Ontario glimmered at the end of the street. Leaning into the teeth of the wind, she held her good Sunday coat over her knees with a thinly gloved hand.
Waves crashed against a breakwater, sending up plumes of spray. Set a hundred feet back behind some ragged bushes was the Edgewater Motel. Roo-s By the Hour, spelled the neon sign. A tired yellow light spilled from the office. All the units were dark except one, which had a pickup truck parked in front of it. Verena walked a short distance to the end of the street; she didn’t want to look like a girl waiting to be picked up. The wind blew without letting up. It smelled of snow and fish, and the cold burrowed into her bones. Perhaps Asher wasn’t coming, she thought, walking back. The next bus to London was not till an hour from now; she’d checked the timetable, just in case.
A car travelling fast swerved into the parking lot. The headlights swept over her and blinked out. It was Elaine’s Toyota. The door opened and Asher jumped out. Light from the street lamp silvered his dark hair. He strode around the fender without acknowledging her presence. She heard him swear as he raised the hood, and felt an urge to turn on her heel and walk away. But where to? As well, she knew she’d regret it later. With an effort she controlled her shivering and approached the car. “Trouble?”
He glanced up. Black-framed glasses emphasized the angular contours of his face, and his left eyebrow quirked in the familiar way. “Carburetor’s misfiring. I told Elaine last week to take it in for servicing. Did she listen?” He reached down and adjusted a few wires. “God knows how long before it gives out.”
Verena recognized Asher’s shorthand for, “You’re lucky I’ve gotten here at all and don’t expect anything from me above and beyond the bare minimum we agreed on.”’ She hadn’t eaten supper in the hope that he would take her out somewhere before they checked into the motel. Nothing grand, just a sandwich and a coffee so she could get warm would be nice.
“Asher…”
“Okay!” He banged down the hood and pocketed his glasses. “Let’s get this show on the road. I haven’t got long. Elaine has rehearsals tonight and I promised I’d pick her up at nine.”
He made her wait outside the office while he checked them in and got the key. Clearly he’d done this before—had she expected otherwise? How many times, she wondered, and did he ever feel guilty? He must have seen the expression on her face when he unlocked the door of their unit and switched on the overhead light.
“Not exactly the Hilton, is it? But it’s got everything we need.”
“Yes.”
The bed sagged in the middle and the green chenille spread needed washing. Asher shrugged off his parka and dropped it on a chair. Underneath he wore a grey sweatshirt with a grease stain on it. Somehow she’d expected him to look different, to be wearing a clean shirt for a start.
“You cold?” he said, as she continued to stand with her coat wrapped tightly around her.
“Freezing,” she whispered. There seemed to be no heat in the room.
“We can fix that,” he said. He found the thermostat, turned it up and tapped it with an experimental finger. “Shit. Seems they’ve got it locked at eighteen. Guess we’ll have to find another way to keep warm.”
She tried to smile and failed.
“You could look happy about it. At least take your coat off.”
She did as she was told, feeling like a child. She waited for him to comment on her dress. Pale blue silk, something that had belonged to her mother.
“Here. Let’s turn on the TV. Cheer things up.” He pressed the remote and an American sitcom appeared on the screen. Asher turned down the sound but she could hear the same program playing faintly in the unit next door. He pulled back the bedspread, piled a couple of thin pillows against the headboard and turned to the minibar. “A drink first?
“You know I don’t drink.”
“Suit yourself.” He opened the door, took out a miniature Scotch and drank from the bottle. “God. I needed this. Talk about a bad day. Nothing but agro. Customer accused me of overcharging him. On the way home the police stopped me. One of the Jeep’s headlights isn’t working. So I had to take the Toyota. Then Borrowman had one of his old-maid fits about a website I’m designing for a campaign to save the spiny-shell turtle. Too graphic, he said.” He threw himself on the bed and patted the blanket beside him. “Come on, chickie. Join me. I’ll stop you shivering.”
Stubbornly she remained standing. She felt degraded by his need for alcohol. “You haven’t said anything about my dress.”
He studied her while he drank. “Nice. But I’d like you better without it.” He set down the bottle. “Come here. That’s more like it.” He grasped her by the wrist and drew her down beside him. “You’re like ice,” he said, running the palms of his hands over her bare arms.
“Crazy to wear a dress like that in this weather.”
“I put it on specially for you.”
“How about taking it off for me?” he murmured, nuzzling his face against her neck. Such banal comments, she thought. The soldiers in Belgrade hadn’t said things like that when they had her mother down on the floor. She felt Asher’s fingers tug at the zipper at the back of her dress and stiffened. He raised his head. “What’s the matter?”
She averted her eyes. “Nothing. Your hands are cold.”
“We’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?” His voice was husky. He leaned over, easing the sleeves from her shoulders and pulling the dress down around her waist at the same time as he kissed her face and her throat and, with an impact like an electrical shock, the swell of her breasts. When his hand mo
ved to undo her bra, she pulled away.
“You don’t want me to?”
“Yes. Only not so fast…” She fought the sensation of being smothered. This was Asher on the bed beside her, the man she was in love with, doing what she’d fantasized about for months. He drew his arm out from under her and sat up. “Listen, why don’t I make it easy for you? I’ll go wait in the bathroom while you finish undressing and slip under the covers.”
“No, please.” She held onto him. “Not that way.” Like a prostitute, a commodity to be laid out for his use. “I’ll be good. Honestly, I will.”
He drained the bottle. “If you say so, chickie.” He undid his belt buckle, the one that read Texas Ranger in ornate silver, which she had so often looked at, wondering, and pulled off his jeans. She had never seen a man’s naked legs this close before. A sprinkling of dark hair grew all the way up his muscular thighs. When she came to the bulge in his white briefs her gorge rose and she had to look away. He lay back on the pillows.
“The thing to remember is, there is no right or wrong way. No good or bad. What’s important is to relax. Just relax. Let everything happen naturally.” She focused her gaze on his face and nodded. His black hair curled on his forehead, still damp from the rain, and a slight sheen of perspiration lined his short Irish upper lip. She herself felt as cold as ever.
“You’ve really never done this before?” he said.
“No.”
“And you want me to, you’re sure?”
“I love you,” she said stubbornly. She was not a coward or a quitter.
He positioned her underneath him, propped himself on an elbow, and began kissing her again while he unhooked her bra. She kissed him back with what she hoped was equal fervour although what she felt was nothing, only a blank emptiness. Over his shoulder the television faces leered and grinned. By dint of arching her upper body close to his she was able to keep his hands from touching her naked breasts.
But now he was tugging at the folds of her dress bunched around her hips. She heard the sound of silk tearing and his grunt of apology. Then his fingers were exploring her flesh, sliding under the waistband of her underpants. Groping. Forcing her rigid legs apart.