by Amy Cross
I shake my head. This has to be a test. It's too much of a coincidence, which means Mark has probably set me up. He must have brought me to Zurich specifically so he could get Isabella Raynard to mess with my mind.
"Please, Elly," she continues. "It's all I've ever wanted".
I pause for a moment, trying to work out the best way to handle this situation. "I'm really sorry if I gave you the wrong impression," I say eventually, "but I don't know what you're talking about. I just -"
"Elly, you -"
"Let me finish" I say firmly, determined to keep her from interrupting me yet again. "I genuinely, honestly don't know what you're talking about, okay? It's obvious that I've accidentally said something that fits with something you think you've heard, and I'm not saying that all this stuff about some game is wrong. But I don't know anything, okay? I'm just Mark's..." I pause for a moment. "I'm Mark's girlfriend," I say eventually, even though the word feels so strange and wrong. "He invited me to come with him to Zurich because we just got together a few weeks ago, and I've never been to Switzerland, and he thought it'd be fun. But there's no game, at least nothing more than the usual games that go on between two people".
Isabella stares at me, and I can tell that she's not sure what to believe.
"I don't think there's anything else I can say to make you change your mind," I continue. "If you're determined to believe that this game thing is real, that's up to you. But I don't have a clue, okay?"
"Okay," she says, sounding as if she's genuinely deflated by what I've said. She looks down at her drink for a moment, and she seems embarrassed. "Sorry," she mutters, taking a sip. "I guess I got carried away".
"Don't worry about it," I reply, trying to work out how soon would be too soon to excuse myself and get away from her.
"I guess I sometimes get a little carried away," she continues. "How old are you, Elly?"
"I'm twenty-two," I reply. "I had a birthday last week".
"I'm forty-eight," she says, with tears in her eyes. Her voice seems to be trembling a little. "I'm more than double your age. I'm not saying it's bad to get older, Elly, but if you get to my age and you're lacking..." She pauses, and it's clear that she's struggling to keep from breaking down.
"It's okay," I reply. "I'm sure your husband loves you".
"Oh, fuck love!" she spits back at me. "Who needs love? Love's bullshit. I'm talking about affection. Love without affection is just an awful thing". She takes a deep breath and then lets out a long sigh. "Make sure you're with someone who shows you a little affection, Elly. Just a touch, now and then. All the love in the world, and all the sex, won't mean anything if you don't have someone who shows you affection. After all, you don't want to end up like me... I'm just some silly old bitch who gets her plastic tits out in the bathroom at parties. I lied to you earlier. I'm not a lesbian, but I did get a little buzz from seeing you topless. Just promise me one thing. Make sure that when you get to forty-eight, you have some affection in your life. If you don't, you're going to find it so hard".
"I'll try," I reply, taken aback by this sudden outpouring of emotion.
Patting my shoulder, she turns and heads back over to her husband, swaying slightly as she goes. I'm left standing by the bar, feeling relieved that I managed to avoid telling her anything about the game, but also feeling incredibly sorry for her. The problem, though, is that I genuinely don't know whether Mark can ever give me affection. He can give me sex, but is that all the game is about? Suddenly, standing in the bar of this exclusive building in the heart of one of the world's richest cities, staring at my billionaire boyfriend as he discusses a massive deal, I feel incredibly lonely.
Jonathan Pope
1901
"Explain something to me," says Darius Wolff, proprietor of the King's Arms, as I sit at the bar. The place is mostly empty, with just a few pieces of human detritus lurking in the farthest corners. "How is it that a man such as yourself, Mr. Pope, who has no discernible use to society, continues to live and breathe, while good men are felled by life's cruel whims? How does that happen, and is it fair?"
"It's not fair," I say, sipping from my mug of beer. "I'm fully aware that there are many, many men who would make better use of life. I have no idea why a man such as myself seems to have such great luck, but I could say the same about you, Wolff. You're hardly an angel, yet year after year you persist in breathing. How do you manage it?"
Wolff takes a swig from his own beer. "I thought you were a dead man a few years ago. God knows how you managed to survive after John the Pig performed surgery on you. Even without any injuries, most people wouldn't survive more than a few minutes in that bastard's company. What's so special about you, Pope?" He pauses for a moment. "You know, there are some people who think you're mixed up in something altogether more unusual these days".
"Like what?" I ask, hoping to deflect any questions.
"Like something official," he continues. "I've been keeping an eye on you for a while, and something's changed. About four, maybe five years ago, rumors got around that you were leaving the country. Some people even said that you were handing your network over to Cather May. Then, suddenly, it seemed like you'd decided to stay. Six months later, Cather's body was found pinned to a door in Covent Garden, and there were stories about a dead body having been found in your house. From what I've heard, a gentleman by the name of Vincent D'Oyly. And then all of a sudden, everything kind of hushed up, like someone put the brakes on the discussion. It's impressive, Pope, but I've got to wonder how you did it".
"You give me too much credit," I say quietly.
"I don't think so. You're a smooth operator. You keep yourself to yourself, but you seem to have an impressive range of contacts".
"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply. The truth is, I only came into the King's Arms because I needed to calm my nerves. I can't go to Henrietta's home yet, since her husband might be there, so I need to wait until I can be sure he's out. He usually goes to his club in the evening, so I need to wait until at least 5pm. For now, my only safe harbor is this grubby little hellhole, although I'm not a fan of Wolff's new, inquiring way of passing the time with his customers. He's always been such a glum, uncommunicative kind of guy, so it's strange that he's suddenly trying to maintain a conversation with me. "You think too much," I say, smiling at him. "That's your problem".
"No-one's ever accused me of that before," he replies dourly.
I shrug.
"Whatever," Wolff says with a smile. "Keep your secrets to yourself if you want, Pope. They're probably not that interesting. I just thought that maybe you'd learned a trick or two that you might want to share. It's important for us to share information. Don't forget that I helped you out a while back, hooking you up with some emergency medical care from John the Pig. I was hoping you might repay the favor by letting me in on your secrets. I understand if you'd rather play your cards closer to your chest, though. Men like us can only really survive if we're alone. When we start working with others, we end up making mistakes. After all, life's little more than a game".
"I don't have any cards," I say, finishing my beer. Damn it, Wolff is normally a quiet guy who keeps to himself; why did he have to choose today, of all days, to suddenly become talkative and interested in my life? Maybe I'm paranoid, but I can't help wondering if even the King's Arms, once a refuge for the bastards of London, might have been infiltrated by unseen forces that seek information about the game. "I just got lucky," I continue, climbing off my bar stool. "You know how it goes, Wolff. A little luck here, a little luck there, and suddenly you're on a roll. It could end any time, though. You never know what's just around the corner".
"I guess not," he replies, taking my empty glass. "See you around".
As I walk out to the street, I make a mental note to never, ever go to the King's Arms again. It's clear that something's spooked Wolff, which means that someone is making inquiries around town. Given the fortress-like nature of that pub, however, it's hard to imag
ine who, or what, could have persuaded Wolff to turn against me. I can't help but glance over my shoulder, just in case someone's following me, but the coast seems to be clear. Still, something's definitely wrong, and my only hope is to get to Henrietta and find some answers. She has connections throughout London, so she's bound to know if someone's on my trail.
Elly
Today
"How long have you known Isabella Raynard?" I ask, trying to make my inquiry sound casual as I unhook my earrings. It's the end of a long night, and Mark and I have finally come back to our hotel room. Unlike previous nights since we arrived in Zurich, I'm not feeling at all drunk; I guess my little conversation with Isabella has kept me sober.
"I don't know her at all," Mark replies, sitting on the end of the bed with a glass of whiskey in his hands. "I've just met Frank a few times. That's all".
"Huh," I reply, still wondering whether I should tell Mark about Isabella's comments. "So you've never really talk to her?"
"Not about anything substantial," Mark says. "Why?"
"Nothing," I reply, although I immediately get a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'm going to tell him eventually, so why delay things? "She said something odd tonight," I continue after a moment, not daring to look over at him; instead, I pretend to be examining my make-up in the mirror.
"Odd in what way?"
"She mentioned the game".
I wait for Mark to say something, but there's just silence. Finally, I turn to see that he's staring at me with a look of shock on his face.
"She mentioned Mr. Blue and Mr. White and Lady Red," I continue. "I didn't tell her about any of it. She didn't really know what she was talking about, but she had a few ideas. She wanted me to confirm it all for her".
"Impossible," Mark says, his voice taut with tension. "There's no way -"
"I'm just telling you what she said," I reply.
"No-one knows," he says firmly, almost as if he's struggling to remain calm.
"You can't be sure of that," I say. "It's the twenty-first century. Information spreads everywhere. If just one person has an inkling of something, it'll be on the internet within seconds. It's amazing that the game has been kept secret for so long".
"It's not 'amazing', as you put it," Mark replies, sounding a little hostile. "You're acting as if it's all down to luck. The game is very, very carefully kept behind closed doors, by people who know what they're doing. There's absolutely no way that any information could leak out. No way at all". He pauses for a moment. "Not unless someone says something inopportune".
"I didn't tell her anything," I say, deciding to leave out the complications and keep my story simple. "She said she'd heard a few things, that's all. She clearly didn't know the whole deal. Someone must have just mentioned a part of it".
"I've already told you," Mark says, getting up and refilling his glass, "there's no way anyone could have talked about the game".
"What about the other people who've played?" I ask. "There were girls before me, weren't there? Maybe one of them talked?"
He shakes his head.
"You can't be certain," I point out.
"I can," he says, taking a sip of whiskey.
"What do you do to them?" I continue, forcing myself to smile. "Do you kill them?"
"No," he says, almost shouting. "Of course not! It's just..." He pauses, as if he's trying to gather his thoughts and calm down. This is a stressed, angry side of Mark that I've seen a couple of times before, and I don't like it. "I'm sorry," he says after a moment. "I shouldn't talk to you like that. You just have to trust me when I say that we have a very secure system in place that ensure there can be no leaks".
"Every system leaks eventually," I reply.
"Not ours," he says. "The game has been played for hundreds of years, and word has never managed to get out".
Smiling politely, I pour myself a glass of whiskey. In a strange way, it feels good to be having this conversation. We usually just have sex in the evenings and then go to sleep, but talking to Mark right now is making me feel like we're more of an actual couple. I can't help but think back to Isabella's words about affection. Walking over to Mark, I place a hand on his shoulder.
"What?" he asks, looking perplexed by the gesture.
"Nothing. I just thought I'd..." I stare at the confused look in his eyes, and slowly I move my arm away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it".
"Are you sure she mentioned the game?" he asks. "I'm serious, Elly. This isn't a time for messing about. Are you absolutely certain that she mentioned it first? Are you sure you didn't let something slip?"
"I'm sure," I say. "She mentioned it first. I denied all knowledge, and eventually she seemed to believe me. She knew the names of the three of you, and she had some kind of vague idea about the game behind something to do with sex. She seemed to be under the impression that you're involved in some way". I wait for him to respond, but he doesn't say anything. I guess I should probably leave him alone with his thoughts, at least for a while. "I'm gonna take a shower before bed," I say, almost kissing him on the cheek before deciding I should be a little more formal. "I won't be long. Do you want to join me?"
"No," he says, staring at his whiskey glass. "I'll be out here".
Keen to get some time alone, I linger in the shower, feeling the warm, soapy water run down my body. It's strange, but even though I sometimes feel lonely when I'm with Mark, I find myself looking forward to these moments when I'm actually, physically alone. Of course, the same thing happens each time: I end up going over and over the details of my relationship with Mark, trying to work out where we stand. Sometimes I feel as if he genuinely cares for me, and other times I feel like I'm just some annoying girl he's keeping around for sex. Thinking back to Isabella's words, I try to remember one time in the past few weeks when Mark has shown me some genuine affection. Just a touch or a word... something, anything to show me that he truly cares. The harsh reality, however, is that there's nothing.
Once I'm out of the shower and back through in the main room, I'm surprised to find that there's no sign of Mark. Slipping a dressing gown over my shoulders, I sit on the bed and read a couple of brochures, and eventually I hear the door open and he comes wandering back through.
"Been somewhere?" I ask.
"I just wanted to remind Frank Raynard about something," he says, already starting to strip off.
"Did you see Isabella?"
"What?" He turns to me. "Oh. Yeah. She was there, but I didn't talk to her".
Putting the brochures aside, I watch as Mark gets undressed. "Do you realize what we're like?" I ask eventually. "We're like an old couple. Look at us, getting ready for bed and..." I stop speaking as I see the confused look in Mark's eyes. I swear to God, it's as if every time I say anything even remotely affectionate to him, he finds it hard to understand what's happening, almost like I've scared him. "You know what I mean," I say eventually, feeling a sinking sensation in my chest.
"Sure," he replies non-committally, stripping down to his underwear.
Sitting in silence, I watch as he gets ready for bed. Suddenly, I realize that if we don't make love, it'll be the first night we've been together where nothing has happened. There's a part of me that's scared, as if he's starting to lose interest in me, but there's another part of me that kind of likes the idea of us slipping into a more normal, more familiar relationship. It's not that I don't want to have him tonight, but I think I could sacrifice one orgasm if it proves that there's more to this situation than just sex.
"So when does it all begin?" I ask eventually.
"What?" he asks, clearly distracted.
"The game," I continue.
"It's already started," he says.
"But Mr. White -"
"You'll meet Mr. White when the time's right," he says. "Lady Red, too. Don't try to hurry things, Elly. The game isn't just about big set-pieces. Even this little trip to Switzerland is part of the whole thing".
"So I'm being tested r
ight now?" I ask.
"I'm not going to give you a running commentary," he replies with a smile. "Let's just say that you're doing very well".
"But I'll have to see Mr. White when we get back to London," I say. "Won't I?"
"Yes," he says after a brief pause. If I didn't know better, I'd say that he's not keen on the prospect of me being taken for one of Mr. White's sessions. "We might go via Singapore, though. I've got some business out there".
"Singapore?"
"Just for a week," he says. "Or two. Maybe. We'll see".
I stare at him for a moment. "Why are you scared to take me home?" I ask eventually.
"What are you talking about?"
"You keep delaying it," I continue. "It's like you want to keep us on the road. Are you worried about me having to go and see Mr. White?"
"Don't be silly".
"Are you worried about something else?" I pause for a moment, and it's clear that Mark is feeling very uncomfortable. I swear to God, it's like he's running from something. "Promise me we'll go back to London after Singapore," I say eventually. "Promise me there's nothing we're running from".
"I promise," he replies tentatively, "although I can't help it if business opportunities come up and -"
"Promise!" I say firmly.
"Fine," he mutters, walking over to the window and looking out at the night sky. "You know, Elly, sometimes you seem a little paranoid. You ask a lot of questions. It's good to be curious, but I feel as if you doubt me. Do you think I'd lie to you, Elly?"