by Sally Graham
And yet….. and yet. Carrie hadn’t forgotten the moment of accidental intimacy when she had dozed off on their hike and found herself resting against Blake’s shoulder. It wasn’t that the shepherd was playing had to get, Carrie thought ruefully as she made her way back to her luxurious first class pod where her seat had been realigned into a full length bed complete with cotton sheets. Blake didn’t seem to be playing at all.
Carrie pulled the sliding door and undressed to her underwear. She couldn’t remember a time when she had been so chaste, she thought ruefully. She reached for her small night bag and flicked off the low lighting before taking out her vibrator. Closing her eyes, she stroked her breast and teased her nipple; in a few moments her hand strayed down her body; after a few minutes her breath hitched and the familiar warmth surged through her body.
And still one name echoed through Carrie’s heated thoughts: Blake.
Even Marc Delaney had to add his congratulations to those of the other partners after Carrie reported on the successful outcome of her San Francisco trip.
“I’ve got to hand it to you, Carrie - you’re a rainmaker. I didn’t think you had a hope in hell of pulling that deal off, but you did. Handsomely.” He touched her elbow and pulled her aside. “People are talking about you, Carrie,” he whispered. “Keep this up till the end of the quarter, and you’ll have a partnership, for sure!” He winked at her, and followed the other bank directors out of the boardroom.
Carrie gathered her papers and closed her laptop. London shimmered in the hazy sun beneath her, the financial district’s steel and glass high rise buildings glittered and sparkled, as if wooing her seductively.
Three weeks ago she would have been exultant, but Carrie looked across the City as if seeing for the first time in a different light: empty and unfulfilling.
“Hi there - we don’t normally see you here this early in the evening!”
“I decided I needed to chill,” Carrie smiled at the pretty girl behind the bar. Normally if the aspiring model or out of work graphic artist or whoever they hired to serve the drinks that day had caught her eye she would have suggested they catch up with each other at the end of her shift - but Carrie felt removed from the potent who-is-seeking-who atmosphere that she normally enjoyed.
She waved back at Kendra on the other side of the room but shook her head at the obvious invitation to join her. They had enjoyed a torrid affair a year or so ago, and were still friends, but Carrie wasn’t in the mood for being a third party to Kendra’s current girlfriend: a butch floor director for a cable TV company.
She looked around the club, her mood restless, and sipped her chilled white wine. She had left the office needing a release from the tension she’d felt since meeting Blake. “I’m not someone to leave a stone unturned,” she used to joke before hitting on the girl she was with. But none of the attractive, professional women who were beginning to fill the club caught her eye. Maybe it was time to finish her drink and go home.
But just as she turned to head for the coat room Carrie recognised the slow New Orleans drawl by her side.
“Honey - of all the gin joints in all the towns - ”
“- in all the world,” Carrie answered, finishing the line from Casablanca, turning to the tall blonde. “It’s the hostess with the mostest! Where have you flown in from?”
The tanned woman laughed and kissed Carrie on both cheeks, her lips lingering a fraction longer than would be socially acceptable anywhere but The Candy Bar, a club popular with professional gay women. “It’s been manic. I haven’t been in London for a couple of months. The charter company has had me on the Far East circuit.” She leaned forward. “That’s where all the bankers are, Carrie. No one is chartering Gulfstreams out of London at the moment.”
Carrie laughed. “Listen Syren, any banker who’s chartering your kind of corporate jet taxi service is probably dumping suspect junk bonds on naive punters.” She hugged the uninhibited American, glad for the reason not to leave so soon.
“C’mon - I’m jet lagged.” Syren said. “ I’m not staying long - getting back in the air tomorrow. I need to hit the sack but not without hearing all your news.” She looked at Carrie meaningfully. “And I mean all your news, honey. Is there a lucky woman in your life yet?”
Carrie leaned forward and whispered in Syren’s ear. “I’m going to misquote another line from the movie.”
“Mmmm, try me,” murmured Syren as she ran her hand down Carrie’s back.
“There could be the continuation of a beautiful friendship,” Carrie said, vividly aware of the nights she and Syren had spent together. “So not tonight, honey!”
“You were never slow, Carrie, I’ll give you that. But, you know, I don’t think I could ravish your body for more than five minutes without falling asleep! I must be getting old!” Syren pulled away and looked at Carrie, and shook her head slightly. “There’s something else, too, since I last saw you.”
“Hey - I’ve never heard that serious tone of voice from you before!”
“We never spoke much to each other honey. We didn’t need words when our tongues were working so hard,” Syren replied. “But I need to tell you something that I never expected.”
“Which is?” Carrie asked, though she suddenly knew what she was going to hear.
“I’ve fallen in love, Darlin’. And this time it’s for real. I haven’t seen anyone else since I fell for Jasmine.” She pulled open her purse. “Here - I’ve gotta show you.”
Syren pulled out small leather folder and opened it up. “Isn’t she gorgeous?” she breathed. “My search is over. We’re going to marry.”
Carrie looked at the pretty Chinese girl who was smiling out of the photograph. She could see why Syren was in love - Jasmine ticked all the boxes. For a long moment, Carrie felt a pang of envy.
“Syren - she’s beautiful. I’m so glad for you.” Then, “What’s it like being faithful to one person?”
“Carrie - it’s a weird experience. I mean, at first I didn’t know what was happening to me. I thought like, maybe, my hormones were playing up, you know? One moment I can only relax when I’m fucking someone different every night. And now? Hell - I miss her every hour that we’re apart.”
She looked at Carrie. “I tell you, it’s better than anything I’ve smoked!” Syren kissed Carrie on both cheeks again. “I want it for you, too, honey. When are you going to settle down?”
“If I listen to you any longer I’ll be booking into a convent!” Carrie joshed. “So I take it you won’t be coming back to my place then?” she teased,
“I wish. We had such fun. Naughty, filthy sex. It was great, wasn’t it?” Syren’s voice changed, and she looked serious. “But you’ll always be a close friend, Carrie. Always.” She looked at her. “Promise you’ll be there when I tie the knot?”
“Me and about twenty other ex’es? You bet! We’ll all be hissing with jealousy! She’s a lucky girl.”
They walked to the exit together, and Carrie saw Syren into a cab before stepping into her own. As she leaned back and watched the brightly lit shopfronts pass by, she thought about Syren’s obvious happiness.
It had been another strange evening. She had left the office with the half-hearted intention of following her usual strategy for releasing tension: pick someone up, have fun sex, and move on. But since she had returned from Dundrannan her thoughts had still only been filled with memories of Blake, and an overwhelming desire to hold her in her arms, and not any other woman.
Early next morning Carrie sent three text messages. The first was to Josie to say that she wouldn’t be in that day and would possibly take Monday off as well.
The second was to Marc Delaney.
The third was to Blake.
Then she checked her smartphone for a telephone number and made an appointment in central London for eleven-thirty later that morning.
Finally, she logged on to the travel website and looked for the first available flight to Glasgow in the afternoon.
&nbs
p; Chapter 15
The black taxi cab drew up as near as it could to King’s Bench Walk in the area of London dedicated to the practice of law since the Middle Ages. Carrie glanced at the business card she held, looked up at the symmetrical red brick buildings with black iron railings and perfectly proportioned white windows, and walked a few yards until she found the legal offices she was looking for. The entrance was framed by an old fashioned lamp that crowned a wrought iron archway, and Carrie saw that it was still lit by gas.
Stepping into the shadow of the porch with its delicate fanlight she examined the names of lawyers and barristers engraved on polished brass nameplates screwed to the wall, but the person she was due to meet headed all the others: David Trelawney, Queen’s Counsel, Senior Partner.
She pressed the entrance button and waited for the door to be opened before she walked into an oasis of quiet as the noise of the London traffic closed behind her. She was expected, and after a quick inspection of her bag she was directed to the first floor.
David Trelawney was standing by the window looking across the square when Carrie walked into his office. He walked across the large book lined room with watercolour landscapes hanging on the walls.
“Welcome to King’s Bench Walk,” he said. “Not quite so exciting architecturally as your finance district at Canary Wharf, but then,” he smiled, “we’ve been here a little longer.” He looked at her. “Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?” He spoke quietly into a phone and gestured to Carrie to sit opposite.
Carrie was worried at the lawyer’s appearance since she had met him at her godmother’s funeral. His face was lined, and his skin had an unhealthy grey pallor.
“I’ve done all the paper work that you requested, Carrie,” he said, slipping behind his desk and opening a file. “The particulars are all detailed and can be handed over to a lawyer in Scotland - they do things slightly differently there, you know.” He coughed, and Carrie noticed how his shoulders heaved, and it seemed to be an effort for him to regain his composure.
“You just need to sign here….. And here…. And here.” He pushed the file across the desk towards Carrie, and pointed to small yellow stickers marked where her signature was required.
At that moment there was a discreet knock on the door and an assistant appeared with a tray on which were two cups of tea in china cups and saucers, milk, sugar, and some biscuits.
Carrie looked at the tray and smiled. “This tea is different to Canary Wharf too. I’m afraid it would have come out of a machine if you had visited me!”
“Ah well - that’s the law for you,” David answered. “Make haste slowly, and all that.” He looked around the room and then rested his eyes on Carrie. “This is an important moment, you know. You were lucky to catch me before I left, because today is my final day here. This transaction between us will be my last piece of work for the practice.” He coughed again. “I wanted to keep going while I could do whatever work your godmother required and now…” His voice trailed away. “Oh - how remiss of me. You’ll need a pen to sign those papers, and I’ll need to call Mrs Peters back into the office to act as a witness.” He was about to lift the telephone on his desk when Carrie interrupted.
“Mr. Trelawney - can I call you David?” He nodded, puzzled. “I hope this hasn’t entailed a lot of extra work for you?”
The elderly lawyer’s face brightened. “Oh no, no. Fairly straightforward, in fact. It makes a refreshing change to do property work rather than corporate tax affairs. All it required was bit of date changing, checking with the Register of Land and Property in Scotland to make sure everything is neat and tidy.” He looked at her over his spectacles. “Why do you ask? Is there anything extra I need to know?” he said, looking at Carrie observantly.
“Um - I’m not quite sure how to tell you this,” Carrie began. “I know it sounds crazy after the conversations we’ve had, and the economic case I made to you for selling Dundrannan.” She took a deep breath. “But I’ve decided not to sell.”
The lawyer was expressionless for a moment, then “I - I beg your pardon?”
Carrie pressed on. “I appreciate that this is unexpected, even a shock, but I looked at all the options again, and have decided not to sell. In fact, I believe that the house and lands could even have a viable future.”
The lawyer took off his spectacles and cleaned them with the end of his tie. “Well, Carrie, I must say that you know how to spring surprises.” He looked at her as she started to apologise. “No, no - I think this is a happy outcome. In fact, I believe - I know - that your godmother would be very, very pleased. She always hoped that you might want to do something with Dundrannan.” He paused. “She believed in you. She really admired everything you’ve done with your life.”
“So, is there anything you need to do now? Apart from binning all your hard work?” Carrie asked, her voice edgy with embarrassment.
David turned in his swivel chair and looked out of the window for a moment before turning back towards Carrie.
“There’s not anything I need to do,” he said carefully, “but there is something you need to know.”
Carrie raised her eyebrows. “I don’t understand - ”
Without answering, the lawyer got up stiffly from his chair and walked across the polished wooden floor to a tall walnut cabinet. Unlocking one of the glass doors, he picked at one of the books, and a false bookshelf panel disguised in tromp d’oeil style swung open to reveal a small grey wall safe. He took a key out of his waistcoat, twisted the dial and swung open the door. Still silent, he pulled open a slim drawer, took out out a white legal sized envelope and returned to his desk.
“This is for you,” he said quietly. “Your Godmother knew she was dying when she wrote its contents. There was always a heart murmur, but a minor stroke was the beginning of the end.” He paused. “You meant a great deal to her, Carrie, and she was certain that you were the right person for Dundrannan, if you chose to take it on.” He leaned forward and spoke earnestly. “She wanted you to live there. But she knew how demanding your work was, and didn’t want to bother you.”
Carrie slumped in her chair.
“No, please, your godmother was very perspicacious. She knew that you had every right to refuse Dundrannan and all the responsibilities it entailed. She made me promise not to give you this if you decided - for good reasons - to proceed with a sale. He slid the envelope across the dark green leather topped desk towards Carrie.
Carrie looked at the manilla envelope, uncertain whether she wanted to read what was inside. “What did she want to tell me?”
There was a silence. “I think you will find out when you read the letter, my dear.”
Carrie looked at him in surprise. His voice had softened, and it was the first time that he had addressed her in any way that was not predictably professional. Suddenly, as clearly as the tumblers of the wall safe had clicked into place when he unlocked it, she understood.
“You loved her too, didn’t you? She meant something to you as well, didn’t she?”
The old man pushed back his chair and gazed out again through the tall window that looked across a small courtyard which had surrounded secrets for centuries. He was quiet for a moment, then he turned back to her.
“You’re very perceptive, my dear. I can’t deny - I won’t deny - my feelings for Hazel.” He sighed. “I loved her. I still do. Even now. More, if that’s possible.” He took off his glasses and leaned back in his chair. “It wasn’t easy. I was married then. It wasn’t possible, in those days, to manage affairs as perhaps it is easier to do now.” His coughed violently, and Carrie quickly reached across to pour him some water.
“No, no, it’s alright. Just my asthma. Please excuse me for a moment.” He reached into his pocket and took out an inhaler. “This provides a little respite,” he whispered, before continuing. “You can remain in this office and read the letter while I go outside and get some fresh air in the park. I think I need it after all this coughing, don’t you?
And then, if you have any questions, we can have have some fresh tea as we have let this brew grow cold, and I will do the best I can to answer your queries.”
He walked around his desk, paused uncertainly, and then bent down and kissed the top of Carrie’s head gently before leaving and closing the door quietly.
Carrie turned the envelope over and lifted one corner of the sealed flap. She didn’t want to tear the envelope open, and suddenly saw an old fashioned paper knife in a round desk tidy along with pencils and pens on David’s desk. She picked it up and was about to slit open the envelope when her eye was caught by the inscription of the ivory handle. To David, With Love, Hazel.
She looked at it intently before sliding the thin blade into the top of the envelope.
There were some sheets of notepaper inside which Carrie carefully withdrew. She recognised her godmother’s handwriting immediately: a neat, flowing script that expressed her personality perfectly.
My dearest Carrie
Now that David has given you this I know that you have made an important decision about for future. And nothing gives me greater pleasure than knowing you want to live in Dundrannan. Believe me, my dear, when I say that I do not hold you to it - no-one should ever tie someone up over stones and mortar - but I have always, in my mind’s eye, seen you there.
There are some matters that you need to know about. Perhaps David has already intimated about our relationship. He is a dear, dear man, and been a support to me in so many ways. So loyal. So close.
We never married. Some snatched holidays now and then. I don’t blame him. It was an impossible situation. His legal career was dazzling, his wife had been injured horribly in a car accident and was in a permanent coma for many years. His profession is immensely conservative. Our love had to remain secret.