Betrayal

by Margaret Bingley

  She frowned, puzzled by the question. 'It was part of the last Paris collection. Don't you remember? You particularly liked… '

  'Of course, the Paris collection. It was very expensive as I recall.' She felt uneasy. Neal never discussed money; had never cared how much she spent or where as long as she did him credit. 'I suppose so.'

  'Then I suggest that you start earning it,' he said curtly. 'Earning it?'

  'Please don't turn coy about our relationship, Kay. Everyone knows exactly how you earn all the clothes you wear so appropriately on your back!' And he laughed unpleasantly.

  'I'm sure no one… '

  'I didn't come here for a discussion, I came here for sexual satisfaction. Now provide it.'

  Kay sat up and wrapped her arms round her knees to try and stop herself from trembling. He was a stranger. Nothing in their time together had prepared her for this and she didn't know what to do. 'Come along,' he said irritably. 'Even the £50 a time girls know how to get started, and God knows every fuck we've ever had has cost me a bloody sight more than that!'

  'Don't!' she cried in anguish. 'Please don't talk about us like that.'

  'I'll talk how I like. It might help if one of us removed our clothes.'

  'You've still got your coat on,' she said stupidly. He took it off and threw it on the nearest chair.

  'Better? Feeling more liberated now?'

  'I don't know what you want me to do.'

  'Bake me a cake! Just remove that stupid nightgown before I tear it off.'

  She got up from the bed and eased the shoulder straps down her arms but the silken material clung too tightly for her to slip the gown over her hips and she had to lift it over her head instead. When she was finally naked he was looking at her with amused tolerance.

  'Not a very professional performance! Fortunately I'm not in need of too much visual stimulation.' She moved back towards the bed but he stopped her with a quick movement of the hand, and she waited warily as he took off his own clothes and walked towards her.

  He put out a hand and ran it round the circumference of her left breast. 'Not quite as firm as a few years ago, is it, Kay? Never mind, we're all growing older and I expect it still feels good. Does it still feel good, Kay?'

  She nodded, too frightened to speak.

  'I'm glad. I'd hate to feel you were always putting on a performance for me. I believe in total honesty in relationships, it's by far the best way.' As he talked he was running his hands all over her, resting them lightly on her hips before moving lower to grasp her by the buttocks and pull her closer to him.

  Now he bent his head and nibbled lightly at the hollow at the base of her throat while his fingers worked their way between her thighs until she was soaking wet and moaning with anticipation. All at once he lifted her off her feet and then pulled her down on top of him, thrusting fiercely into her while still standing so that she had to clasp her legs round his waist while he turned until she could see herself in the floor-length mirror by the window.

  He moved her up and down on him, slowly at first but then faster, and she could see her distorted face, her mouth opening as she gasped with shock and pleasure and then—just as she was on the verge of climaxing—he lifted her clear of his body, threw her face down on the bed and entered her from behind, lifting her hips high off the bed so that he could penetrate as deeply as possible.

  The violence of his movements pushed her up the bed until she came to a stop against the pillows, and now she was screaming at the waves of pleasure washing over her and this time as she climaxed he did too and she felt him shuddering above her before he collapsed onto her back.

  For a moment they lay in silence and then he rolled away and swung himself off the bed. 'Good?' he asked casually.

  She looked at him. He seemed perfectly normal, there was no sign of the strange mood he'd been in when he arrived. 'Fantastic!' she murmured. 'Better than ever.'

  'I'm glad. Aren't you going to take a shower?' ‘Not yet.'

  'I'd like you to take a shower.' 'What's the matter with you tonight?'

  'Just do as I ask,' he said coldly. After she'd gone he looked at himself in the mirror and hated what he saw. How could he have come here and made love to Kay when all the time he was picturing Lisa? It was a sign of weakness in him, and as such he'd eradicate it in the only practical way. If Kay weren't here then he wouldn't be tempted, so Kay must go a little earlier then he'd anticipated.

  She came back a few minutes later and found her cases on top of the bed. 'Pack your things,' he instructed. 'We're finished. It's over.'

  'You can't mean it; not after what we've just done!' 'That was a farewell gift to you. Now I want you to go.'

  'Where on earth can I go at six in the morning with five suitcases and no money of my own?'

  'You've got money. I've been paying you an allowance for years, and to the best of my knowledge you've never used any of it.'

  'But… '

  'It's all arranged,' he continued smoothly, seeing the desperation on her face. 'You can stay at the cottage for a few weeks until we sort things out. I'm not unreasonable, you know.'

  'You can't afford to be!' she said bitterly. 'Not after the things I've learnt about you.'

  The look in his eyes told her only too clearly that she'd made a terrible mistake. 'I didn't mean that,' she said quickly. 'I was only joking, I… '

  'Of course you were. Excuse me a moment.' Abruptly he left the room. Kay looked at the cases, most of them empty, and shivered. She thought of making a run for it, but there was only one way out of the flat and that was through the dining-room where Neal was using the phone. He wasn't gone long and when he returned his smile told her better than any words that money wouldn't matter to her any more.

  'Please don't hurt me!' she screamed, hurling herself at him and trying to hide her face in his chest. He pushed her off and pulled on a polo-necked cashmere sweater. 'I've no intention of hurting you. I employ other people to do that kind of thing.'

  'I swear I'll never tell anyone anything. I'll go abroad. I can always begin again out there. Suppose I go to… ' The door opened, and when she looked up Kay's last hope died within her.

  'Bishop, Kay hasn’t finished packing but I don’t think that matters. She wants a little break, somewhere to pull herself together and work out her future. I don't mind if you take her to your little place in Norfolk for a few days, as long as I'm not required to see her again.'

  'No!’' screamed Kay, totally hysterical at the thought. 'For God's sake, don't let him near me. What have I done to deserve Bishop?'

  'You threatened me,' he said softly. 'That was a terrible mistake. Get her out of here, Bishop, and make sure no one sees you. I'll get one of the others to dispose of her belongings.'

  As Bishop put a hand over Kay's mouth to muffle her screams she looked back despairingly at the man who'd been her lover and protector for the past ten years, and he looked back at her with total disinterest. For all the emotion on his face she might have been a complete stranger.

  Three months later her mutilated body was washed up on the French coast. She was finally identified by a cousin twice removed. He told the authorities that she'd been determined to take her new boat across the Channel on her own, despite his warnings. The boat was found the following day and the cousin twice-removed returned to Scotland a wealthier man, who was fortunately far wiser than the unfortunate Kay.

  It was Neal's first mistake. This perfect murder was to cost him a great deal of money.

  Six months later he sat behind his heavy oak desk and looked enquiringly at the bespectacled man opposite him. 'How's the patient, Mr Oakleigh?'

  Lewis Oakleigh, a top psychologist at one of the main London teaching hospitals whose unfortunate weakness for under-age girls had brought him into contact with Neal, moistened dry lips and cleared his throat. 'She's much better,' he said reassuringly.

  'Perhaps you wouldn't mind going into a little more detail. Would you say she's ready for a proper relationsh
ip yet?'

  'Given the right circumstances, the right approach, and naturally the right man, I'd say yes.'

  Neal smiled pleasantly. 'You're quite certain? You don't want to hedge your bets even more?'

  'It isn't a question of hedging my bets. She's been badly damaged emotionally from an early age. The incident with her husband was the final straw. At only seven years of age she underwent the trauma of discovering… I want that woman, and I've been paying you a small fortune to make sure she's ready for me. Are you trying to say you've failed? That you need even more time to cure her? '

  'I've done everything I can. It isn't like treating measles or a broken leg, you know.'

  'Is she cured?' snapped Neal.

  'She'll never be cured because we can't erase all her past life. Like the rest of us, she's the product of her experiences. What I can say is that she's now as ready as possible to embark on new relationships with men. In point of fact she shows no great desire to do so, but… ' 'I think you can safely leave me to arouse the necessary desire, Lewis. Your opinion in the case of any female over the age of fourteen is not, I would have thought, altogether reliable.'

  Oakleigh flushed and once again wished he'd never been stupid enough to let these people find out. It meant he was constantly at their beck and call, accumulating knowledge that made it impossible for them to let him go. He was also acutely aware of the fact that should he ever refuse their work, or—as in the case of Lisa Walker—not make a totally satisfactory job of it, then they would remove him without conscience or hesitation. His stomach churned. 'I've done my best. You could always ask for a second opinion.'

  'Totally unnecessary; I know you've done your best. I can see a difference in her already. Here's a cheque for the final month. We'll consider her cured as from today!'

  'She'll never be cured, that's the whole point of my report!' 'As far as you're concerned, she's cured, Lewis.'

  Oakleigh was a good psychologist and hated the fact that when working for Gueras he was rarely allowed to see a case through. As he stood up, he forced himself to speak out again. 'You should have someone examine her daughter.'

  'All right, if it will stop Lisa worrying about her. You'd think she'd got enough on her plate without inventing difficulties.'

  'She isn't inventing them. There's something wrong with the child.'

  Neal raised his eyebrows. 'You sound very confident. Perhaps you could tell me what the problem is?'

  'You need a child psychologist for that.'

  'And naturally they don't let you near children! Fine, I'll get someone else. That's all, Oakleigh. Close the door behind you, I don't want any more interruptions.'

  Once he was alone, Neal flipped through the notes and frowned. She wasn't going to be easy, but then nothing worth having was. He'd once spent three years chasing a Reubens painting, three painstaking, expensive years, but now it hung on his dining-room wall and every time he looked at it the pleasure was just as great as when he first set eyes on it in someone else's house.

  Naturally women weren't as satisfying as a good painting but he still felt sure that Lisa was worth a good deal of time and money. He decided to cancel his evening meeting with Bishop to pay a call on her. An unexpected call.

  At seven-thirty, Lisa was trying to bathe the rigid Jessica in the kitchen sink because she hated the big bath and became even more difficult when that was used.

  'What's the matter with you?' demanded Lisa tearfully. 'Most children enjoy bath time. Why won't you ever smile at me? Jessica, look at Mummy!' But Jessica lay tense and apparently unhearing, staring intently at the strip lighting over the gleaming work surfaces. Finally she was clean. Then came the nightmare of forcing her unbending limbs into the sleep-suit before cradling the resistant body in one arm while attempting to insert the teat into her disinterested mouth. Lisa hummed gently as she fiddled with the bottle, but if Jessica heard she didn't look at her mother in acknowledgement. Instead, she gazed unblinkingly at a pattern on the living-room wall formed by the light from the lampshade reflecting off the oval mirror above the fireplace. When she was eventually feeding she drank greedily, and after she'd finished did produce a smile—only it wasn't for Lisa, it was for the pattern on the wall.

  'Why won't you love me, Jessica?' whispered Lisa, getting ready to take her daughter upstairs. 'What's the matter with you?' But Jessica merely arched herself against the loving arms and struggled to get free.

  With her daughter finally in bed, Lisa changed out of her slacks and blouse and put on a mohair dress of pale blue that clung tightly to every curve. She liked it because it made her feel feminine again, as she used to feel before everything went wrong. Mr Oakleigh had made quite a point of the fact that she mustn't let herself go; that just because she'd had a bad experience with Toby she couldn't spend all her time in slacks and jeans in a rather childlike attempt to become undesirable.

  Tonight, as she sprayed on the last of Toby's 'Ma Griffe', she realised he'd been right. She felt better already, and whilst she'd never admit it to anyone, Jessica's continuing strangeness made the evenings all the more precious because for a short time she could pretend that everything was all right, and it was a perfectly normal baby who lay sleeping in the attic room.

  She knew it must be Neal as soon as he arrived, he was the only person who knocked on the door. Everyone else used the bell. 'Hello, stranger!' she smiled. 'I thought you must be abroad on business.'

  'That's a lovely dress.'

  'It's quite old but it always makes me feel good. According to London's answer to Freud, I have to spend a great deal of time making myself feel good!'

  'I take it you missed me?'

  'Of course I did. No one else ever comes to visit me!' 'A somewhat backhanded compliment.'

  'It wasn't meant like that. Is that Corton-Charlemagne?' she added, glancing at the bottle in his hands.

  'I understand it's your favourite?'

  'It certainly is, what bliss!'

  'Where's Jessica?' he added politely, going into the kitchen to find a corkscrew.

  'Asleep upstairs.'

  'Is she keeping well?'

  Lisa hesitated. 'You don't really want me to say, do you? I know you get annoyed when I talk about her, and I'd hate to spoil the evening before it's begun.'

  'If I hadn't wanted to know I wouldn't have asked. Glasses?'

  'In the cabinet. Actually, I'm beginning to wonder if she's deaf. When I dropped a tray in the kitchen this morning, she never even blinked.'

  'She hears music well enough but perhaps we ought to have her looked at by a paediatrician. Would you like that? '

  Lisa stared at him, her eyes reflecting every conflicting emotion surging through her. 'I think she should be examined,' she said at last. 'The trouble is, I'm afraid of what they're going to find out.'

  He filled the wine glasses and handed her one before putting an arm lightly round her waist. 'If there's something wrong, then the sooner we know the quicker we can do something about it. And if there isn't, you can stop worrying and get on with your life.'

  'There is something wrong, Neal, and it isn't minor.'

  'In which case she deserves a good specialist as soon as possible.' She swallowed hard. 'Yes, of course, and I am grateful. Only, until today you've never seemed to take my worries seriously and now that you are I feel, I don't know, as though your belief makes them more real.'

  'I can assure you it doesn't! I'll make the necessary arrangements to have her looked at and we won't talk about it for the rest of the evening. Is that fair?'

  'Very fair! So tell me, where have you been these past weeks?'

  He could hardly tell her the truth. Most of his time had been spent either dealing with the increasing difficulties within his organisation, disposing of his former mistress, or visiting his wife and daughters—while all the time wondering if Lisa was missing him and whether his plan of leaving her temporarily isolated would work in his favour. Instead , he shrugged. 'Work and domestic affairs. Very bo
ring, but necessary.'

  'Tell me about your family.'

  'I married young, a girl from the same village in Greece. After a time I realised there was no future for me out there and moved to London to set up my own business. I started out in antiques, the same as Simon. However, I diversified along the way.'

  'You certainly did! Surely Naomi must be very unhappy with the way things have worked out?'

  'No,' he lied smoothly. 'She likes the money and the houses my success has brought her, but as you know, she finds socialising almost impossible. She also feels that she's failed me because we have no son.' 'You think she's failed you too,' interrupted Lisa. 'I remember… ' 'Nonsense! All right, I wanted a son to inherit everything I've worked for but it isn't a matter of life or death.'

  'I should hope not! And what are your daughters like?'

  'Louise, the oldest, is very pretty, selfish and empty-headed. Ruth, the middle one, is bright but quite plain and totally without Louise's social skills, while Rebekah is just a small girl who finds it difficult to make friends.'

  'You make them sound a highly exciting trio! Really, what a way to talk about your own daughters!'

  'You asked, I thought you genuinely wanted to know.'

  'I did, I'm just a bit stunned by your critical appraisal. Where's all the paternal love?'

  'I'm afraid I'm not a very good father. I've been too busy working to get to know them all that well. Naomi looked after Louise and Ruth. She hasn't been well since Rebekah was born, so Rebekah has a nanny, or rather an ever-changing succession of nannies.'

  'What's wrong with Naomi?'

  'She drinks,' he said bluntly. 'More wine?' 'Thanks. I drink.'

  'Naomi has a drink problem. That's why she rarely comes to London.'

  'There are clinics she could go to.'

  'She doesn't believe she's got a problem. You can't help people who won't admit there's anything wrong.'

  'So that's why you've got your mistress. Kay, I think you called her. What's she like?'

  Neal smiled. 'I find your curiosity quite flattering.' 'I'm simply intrigued by the way you live.'