The birthday girl

by Stephen Leather

  'How about we work out together, then I'll buy you that drink?'

  She nodded. 'Deal,' she said. 'Choose your weapon.'

  Nelson looked around the exercise room. 'Stairmasters,' he said.

  'Good choice. I need to work on my legs.'

  Nelson watched her as she walked over to the machines. He shook his head as he admired her long legs. They definitely did not need working on. They were just perfect. She looked over her shoulder, caught him staring at her, and smiled. He stepped on to the machine next to her and they matched each other step for step.

  Later, after they'd showered and changed, he met her in the club's bar and bought her a vodka and tonic while he drank a beer. She'd undone the ponytail and her hair hung straight down her back where it rippled each time she moved her head. He had to keep fighting the urge to reach out and touch it. He could only imagine what it would feel like to have it draped over his naked body. Jenny told him that she was in public relations, working for an independent company that represented several manufacturing concerns. Nelson was genuinely surprised to discover that she was quick-witted and intelligent and had a highly paid job: the first time he saw her he'd assumed she was a photographic model or at least had a career that would make use of her stunning looks.

  Several times Nelson saw guys turn to look at her as they headed for the bar, and he felt a surge of pride that she was sitting with him, hanging on his every word and touching him occasionally on the knee. He told her about the house he'd recently bought, a four-bedroomed colonial in a predominantly white neighbourhood to the north of the city, and she said she'd love to see it. It was an opening he couldn't fail to follow up and he asked her if she'd like to go back for a drink. She studied him with steady green eyes over the top of her glass as if weighing up her options, then she nodded and said she'd love to. Five minutes later they were in his Jaguar, heading north up Charles Street, Dire Straits on the CD and the smell of her perfume almost overpowering him.

  He pushed his foot down hard to give her an idea of the car's power, and the engine growled.

  'I love a stick shift, don't you?' she said as he changed up from second to third. She slipped her hand over his and squeezed.

  'You get so much more control.'

  He looked across and saw that she was smiling. She held his gaze and he knew that she was available. More than available, she was ready, willing and able. He doubted that he'd be taking her home that night. When he turned away from her he saw the bus, looming ahead of him, and he hit the brakes, hard. The Jaguar's braking power was every bit as impressive as its engine performance and it stopped with yards to spare. A white Cadillac almost rear-ended him in turn. 'Sorry,' he said to Jenny.

  She shook her head, showing that it didn't matter. She moved her legs together as she stretched them out and he heard the whisper of silk. It was a sound filled with promise, and he felt the stirrings of another erection. Down, boy, he thought. There'd be plenty of time for that later.

  Mersiha guided the yacht into its berth with confident turns of the wheel. Freeman stood at the bow, but it was clear that she didn't need his input. He'd suggested that they come in using the engine, but Mersiha had insisted on showing that she could do it under sail. The wind was onshore so she'd rounded up into the breeze and allowed the boat to drift back against the dock.

  She timed it to perfection, bringing the boat perfectly parallel to the wooden jetty as Freeman dropped fenders over the side to protect the topside. They quickly stowed the sails and made the boat fast.

  'Nice job, First Mate,' he said appreciatively.

  'Thanks, Captain,' Mersiha said, saluting.

  'I'm serious,' Freeman said, checking the tension of the stern line. 'That was as good a bit of seamanship as I've ever seen.'

  'Thanks, Dad. You're a good teacher.'

  Freeman smiled and ruffled her hair. 'I think we should stop this mutual appreciation society, don't you?'

  He gave the boat a quick going over and, satisfied that everything was tied down, they headed for the car.

  Freeman rolled his shoulders as he drove home. He could feel his neck muscles begin to stiffen. Sailing was hard work.

  He never realised just how tiring it was until afterwards, and he knew that he'd sleep well that night. He always did after a day on the bay, even though Mersiha had done more than her fair share. He looked over at his daughter as she snored quietly, like a sleeping cat. He was proud of her. He was glad that he'd told her about Luke. At least now she knew that he and Katherine loved her in her own right. He was glad, too, that she'd started to open up to him. Being alone on the water had helped. She was generally more talkative on a one-to-one basis. Freeman had a sudden thought, that he'd take Mersiha on a holiday, just the two of them. The end of her school term was fast approaching, and Maury was more than capable of looking after the business.

  Freeman would find a place that resembled Bosnia, a place with rolling countryside, fields and forests, a place that would remind her of home. A log cabin somewhere in the mid-west, maybe.

  He'd have to speak to a travel agent, to find a place that would be suitable, somewhere out of the way, isolated, where he could nourish the relationship, forge the bond that would allow her to trust him completely. The idea appealed to him so much that he had an urge to wake her up and tell her there and then. He resisted and let her sleep on, but the more he considered the idea, the better it felt. He'd have to clear it with Katherine, of course, but he was sure she'd agree.

  Mersiha slept all the way home, only waking as Freeman turned into the driveway and parked behind ^Catherine's car.

  She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands. 'Sorry,' she murmured.

  'Don't be silly. You were tired.'

  'I wanted to talk.'

  'You wanted to sleep.' They climbed out of the car and walked together around the back of the house and into the kitchen.

  Katherine was there, taking warm plates out of the stove.

  She looked over her shoulder and smiled at Freeman. 'How was it?'

  'Perfect. What's cooking?'

  'Beef stew. Is that okay?'

  'Sounds great.'

  'Stew okay for you, Mersiha?' Katherine asked.

  Freeman noticed that Mersiha looked at him before answering, as if acknowledging her earlier promise. 'Lovely. Do you want any help?'

  'It's almost ready,' Katherine said, clearly pleased by the offer.

  'You could drain the carrots for me.'

  Mersiha put a lid on a saucepan of sliced carrots and poured the water off as Freeman laid the table. He winked at his daughter and she winked back.

  Later, after Mersiha had gone to her room to get on with some homework, Freeman and Katherine settled down in front of the living-room. Katherine was reading an old copy of Vogue, her mind clearly not on the magazine. She ran her index finger around her tumbler of brandy and Coke. A lit cigarette lay in the ashtray, untouched.

  'Penny for them?' Freeman asked.

  Katherine's head jerked up. 'What?' she snapped. Then she saw his look of concern and her face softened. 'Sorry, Tony. I was miles away.'

  'Anything I can help with?'

  She shook her head. 'I was actually thinking about Lennie Nelson, believe it or not. I was wondering what my father would have made of him.'

  'He'd probably have given him very short shrift. Your father didn't appreciate outsiders sticking their noses in his business.

  I know he thought long and hard before allowing me in.'

  'That's true,' she said, smiling at the memory. 'He had you pegged as a fortune hunter, remember?'

  Freeman doubted that he'd ever forget. Katherine's father had either scared away or bought off all her previous suitors, and he'd attempted the same with Freeman. He had never told Katherine about the old man's last attempt to drive him away. It had been in the study of the Williamson mansion in Annapolis, a book-lined room with a roaring fire and a Chinese rug on the floor. It seemed to Freeman that he'd spent a long
time staring at the blue hand-woven silk rug and its images of dragons and snakes as the old man had outlined his terms: a cheque for fifteen thousand dollars and a one-way ticket back to Scotland, in exchange for agreeing never to see Katherine again. The old man hadn't been quite that direct – there had been a long preamble about the family, their desire to see Katherine married to someone of her own class, someone of her own intellectual standing, someone who could keep her in the lifestyle to which she'd become accustomed – and there was a lot of ego-massaging, about how Freeman was a nice guy, salt of the earth, hard-working and no doubt totally trustworthy, but that really he wasn't right for the only child of one of Maryland's most powerful industrialists. Not to say richest. Freeman could still picture the rug in his mind.

  'Still, you won him over, didn't you?' Katherine's words jogged him out of his reverie.

  Freeman smiled and nodded. He couldn't remember exactly what he'd said to the old man, not the precise words. He knew that he couldn't show anger, or hatred, that any show of emotion would prove only that Katherine's father was right, that he was unworthy of her hand. He explained that he had been put in an impossible position, that he had no wish to take her away from her family, and that he knew her well enough to understand that it would be an impossible task anyway. Katherine's love for her family, and her father in particular, went far beyond anything she could ever feel for a lover. So if her family rejected him, he had no alternative but to walk away. The old man had smiled and reached for his cheque book, but Freeman had shaken his head. The money wasn't important, he'd said. The money was nothing. Freeman's family owned several farms in the north of Scotland, and while he'd never be as rich as Katherine's father, he'd certainly never be short of money. It was the first and only time he'd spoken about family money with the old man. He had turned on his heels and walked out of the study, sure that it was the last time he'd ever set foot in the mansion. He was wrong.

  The following day Katherine phoned, inviting him to dinner.

  With her father.

  The old man never mentioned the discussion in the study, and Freeman could never work out whether the offer to pay him off had been a genuine one, or if it was just the final test to see whether he really loved Katherine. Whatever, the old man had given his blessing and six months later they'd married.

  'Yeah, eventually I did,' he said. 'I doubt if Nelson would have been able to. Your father would have run him out of town.'

  'Lynched him, more like,' Katherine said. She was joking, but her father had views that wouldn't have gone down well in present-day politically correct America.

  'I think we should give Nelson the benefit of the doubt,'

  Freeman said.

  'We'll see,' she mused, picking up her tumbler and looking at him over the top. 'Did you speak to Mersiha?'

  'About what?'

  'Don't give me that wide-eyed innocent look, Freeman. You know what about. Whatever you said, she was as nice as pie tonight.'

  'Nah, it's your cooking.'

  Katherine sniffed pointedly. 'I hope that's not a crack about my culinary abilities. Wasn't the stew thawed enough?'

  'The stew was thawed just fine. My compliments to the chef.'

  He ducked as the magazine sailed through the air, missing his head by inches.

  'By die way,' Katherine said. 'Did you ever ask her about that cartridge I found?'

  Freeman shrugged. 'The opportunity didn't came up,' he said.

  'But I had an idea.'

  'Uh-oh.' She sipped her drink and waited for him to continue.

  'I'd like to take her away for a few days. A sort of vacation.'

  'Father-daughter bonding?'

  'It went really well today, Kat. She spoke about her brother for the first time. I think she's starting to open up.'

  'And you want to go alone? Just the two of you?'

  'If that's okay with you. It would just be for a few days. We could all take a vacation together later on in the year if you like, but yeah, I'd like to do this on my own. I really think it'll help.'

  'Where would you go?'

  Freeman leant forward. 'That's my brainwave,' he said eagerly. 'I'm going to find somewhere like Bosnia. Somewhere that'll remind her of her home. Mountains. Forests. Farmland. If I can get her in that environment, but also an environment where she feels safe, I think it might set her thinking. And talking.'

  Katherine frowned. 'I don't know, Tony. It might be a bit much for her.'

  'I don't think so. Besides, I'll be careful. I'm not planning to put her through the third degree. I'll take her hiking. Fishing maybe. And we'll talk. If she wants to. Hell, I can't do any worse than Art Brown. His files were devoid of any insight into her psyche. Plenty of observations, but he hasn't a clue as to why she's the way she is. I'm sure I can do better than that.'

  'You're sure? You're sure it won't do more harm than good?'

  'No, I'm not sure. But she'll be sixteen in a few days. She'll soon be an adult. I don't want her to have these nightmares for the rest of her life. And what about college? How do you think she'll get on if she's still sleepwalking in her twenties?'

  Katherine nodded. 'Where would you take her?'

  'I don't know. Colorado maybe. I'll speak to a travel agent.'

  'When?'

  'She's due a week off soon, right? That thing they do in Maryland to save money in winter.'

  'You mean Energy Conservation Week? I think the idea is to save the world's natural resources.'

  'Yeah, whatever. It's the perfect opportunity. I could make it a birthday present. Just a few days, a week at most.'

  'You're sure you're not just trying to get away from me?' she said, pouting.

  Freeman walked over and knelt down before her. 'Don't be silly, Kat. I love you.' He kissed her on the lips. He could taste the brandy and Coke. She kissed him back, sliding her hand around the back of his neck and running her fingers through his hair. He broke away first. 'I'll always love you,' he said, his eyes shining with desire.

  'I know,' she said. She kissed him again, harder this time.

  The drive from the city centre to his house in Tuscany Road was always a major ego boost for Nelson. On the way up Charles Street he crossed North Avenue and its crack-houses, hookers and street beggars which typified Baltimore's urban decay, the image the city fathers tried so hard to gloss over by promoting its convention centres, Inner Harbour shopping malls and baseball stadium. Though he'd never admit it to anyone, North Avenue was where Nelson came from. He'd been brought up in a twobedroomed cockroach-infested row house close to the corner of North Avenue and Greenmount, one of five children, with a father who left when he was three months old and a mother who sold heroin to make ends meet. She was long dead, his mother, and so were two of his brothers, one of a drugs overdose, the other shot by a burglar high on cocaine. That was par for the course in Baltimore. What wasn't typical was the fact that Nelson had escaped from his background, had worked his way through college and graduate school and had started on a career path that was going to take him all the way to the top. There wasn't anything a young, good-looking, ambitious black male couldn't do with a Democrat in the White House and affirmative action the order of the day.

  Further up Charles Street, between 29th and University Parkway, was Johns Hopkins University, where he'd studied with a vengeance, studied harder than anyone had ever studied before because he had something to prove and something to escape from. He'd spent more hours in the library than he had in bed, and when he wasn't studying he was flipping burgers at Burger King, washing dishes at countless restaurants and bagging groceries for overweight white suburban housewives.

  After four years he left Hopkins with a BA, dishpan hands and student loans that kept him on a diet of beans and rice for a long time. It had also given him an appetite for work that stood him in good stead in the world of banking. He was always first at his desk and he made it a point not to leave if there was anyone else on the floor.

  Nelson could see that
Jenny was impressed by the large colonial houses shaded by leafy trees with two-car garages and lawns that needed ride-on mowers. He slowed down and drove the Jaguar up to his house. 'I love it,' she said as she walked up to the front door. 'How long have you lived here?'

  'A couple of years,' he lied. He'd actually bought it just six months earlier and it was mortgaged to the hilt.

  He unlocked the front door and ushered her in, switching the lights on as she walked into the hallway. She looked around appreciatively, put her bag by the door, and went into the sitting room. As always the room was immaculate he spent so little time there it rarely got untidy. There were two leather chesterfields either side of a fireplace with a gas fire that looked like it was filled with real coal, a steel and chrome shelving system which contained his stereo and CD collection, and a big-screen television. Nelson had seen the furniture in the window of a downtown store and had bought it as a job lot.

  He'd even gone to the trouble of matching the thick-pile carpet to the colour used in the window display. 'Can I get you a drink?' he asked.

  'Sure. What have you got?'

  'I've got vodka in the icebox.'

  'Great.'

  Nelson went into the kitchen and opened his refrigerator. He had a bottle of Absolut next to his ice cubes, but in the vegetable chiller he saw something he thought Jenny might appreciate even more. He took the bottle of Tattinger champagne out and carried it into the sitting room with two long-stemmed glasses. She was standing by the window, toying with a vase of freshly cut flowers.

  His cleaning lady replaced them every three or four days. 'How about this instead?' he asked.

  'Terrific,' she said. 'Are we celebrating?'

  Nelson popped the cork and deftly poured the champagne into the two glasses. 'Meeting you,' he said. 'It's the best thing that's happened to me for some time.'

  'Sweet-talker,' she said, taking her glass. She raised it in salute, then sipped. 'Mmmmm, good,' she said. She looked at the fireplace. 'Does it work?' she asked.

  'It's gas, but it looks like the real thing,' he said. He put his glass on the mantelpiece and knelt down on the sheepskin rug in front of the fire, turning the gas on and pressing the igniter button. Yellow and red flames flickered among the fake coals. As he straightened up he felt Jenny's hand touch the back of his head and then stroke his neck. He rested his cheek against her thighs and closed his eyes. She knelt down beside him and put her glass on the hearth and before he knew what was happening she was kissing him, her lips pressed tightly against his, her soft tongue probing between his teeth. He kissed her back, passionately, and his hands reached for her breasts, stroking them, teasing the nipples until they hardened. She broke away, gasping for breath.