“Are you sure?” Bearing asked, as I would hate for anything unfortunate to happen to you.”
The girl nodded again. “Good,” said Peter, “Then let’s say nothing more about it.”
“Alright,” the girl said meekly.
“Now, with our business concluded, please feel free to use the shower. You must then get dressed and leave. After that I trust there will be no need for us to ever see each other again.”
She nodded one last time, snatched up her dress and hurriedly hobbled off to the en-suite bathroom. A moment later Peter heard the shower running. He could also hear her sobbing deeply. Ten minutes after that the girl reappeared washed, dressed and with her hair brushed although she still looked as if she’d been in a car wreck, the bruises on her face were now in full bloom and her lips and nose were badly swollen. She was walking very stiffly, with a wide gait, the wounds between her legs and the welt marks on her buttocks caused by his belt had been made sore and angry by the hot water. But she had made herself clean, although she doubted she would feel properly clean ever again.
Bearing sat in an armchair by the window, the curtains open and the bright new morning shining in. She stopped short as she saw him, Jonathan Wallace was still out for the count on the bed and a trickle of remorse seeped into her brain. If Bearing could do what he had to her, what on earth had he in store for that poor soul she thought.
“All done?” Peter said brightly.
“Yes. Thanks,” she said timidly.
“Good, then that’s us done. Off you go - and remember, not a word.”
“I’ll remember. I promise.” She said. Then after a pause she limped to the door and slipped silently out.
Peter watched from the window as several minutes later the girl climbed into her little Renault Clio and raced away from the house up the long driveway towards the main gates. He picked up the phone and buzzed security. “Open the gates, would you?” He said to the guard who answered, “A guest of mine is leaving and she’s in rather a rush, so please do not detain her.”
“Of course, sir,” said the guard as Bearing replaced the handset.
He then turned his attention to Jonathan Wallace who was ridiculously oblivious to all that had transpired whilst he was sleeping and how very different his life was going to be when he eventually awoke.
Bearing smiled.
* * *
It was midday by the time Jonathan finally awoke. Very slowly he opened his eyes and almost immediately became aware of the pounding headache. “Christ,” he thought, “How much did I bloody drink last night?” He was not usually a big drinker, the odd glass of wine with a meal perhaps, a couple of whiskies if he was out with friends, but not much as whisky made him bad tempered and irritable. He was not a good drunk which is why he rarely partook. But he must have downed a few last night because this headache was something else.
He lay there for a few minutes more before attempting to move and when he did the pain intensified. “Jesus!” He groaned aloud. “What the hell was I drinking?”
Still lying flat, Jonathan glanced slowly about him, trying to ascertain where he was. He was thirty-four but looked quite a bit younger. The strawberry blonde hair and fresh face giving him a boyish appearance and his good nature and friendly personality making him seem even more youthful. He was sharp and intelligent although not particularly worldly, but people generally liked him which greatly helped his acceptance within The Firm. At least with all but one of the board members.
Jonathan blinked, trying to focus, the room he was in was big and modern with large windows and decorated in the minimalist style. Then he remembered. He was at Peter’s Palace. He was there for the weekend, to try and build bridges with his associate whose attitude towards him of late had been somewhat prickly.
Last night there was a party. But did he attend? Yes, yes, he did, it was slowly coming back. It was a good party from what he remembered, although it was all very fuzzy. There was a girl, he thought. Yes, that’s right, very attractive, blonde, very striking and just my type. But what had happened to her? Then it came back, or at least flashes of it did. They were chatting he remembered, she had a lovely smile and a really infectious laugh. They kissed, he was sure of it. They were upstairs in this bedroom, kissing. She took off her dress. He recalled that she was wearing green satin underwear and stockings with garters, very sexy. He could then picture her on top of him, but the image was blurry. He was sure that they had made love, certain of it, yet he couldn’t actually remember it. ‘Dammit!’ he thought, ‘Why can’t I remember anything else!’ Then it occurred to him that she might still be there, maybe she was in the bathroom or downstairs having breakfast. He hoped so as he would really like to see her again.
‘Ah, breakfast,’ he thought, ‘I’d better force myself to get up, Peter’s going to think I’m a terrible house guest.” He lifted his hand to rub the sleep from his eyes and a piece of cloth that had been lying on his arm slipped onto his face. He lifted it up and held it away from him to see what it was and saw immediately that it was a pair of green satin and lace knickers, identical to those that his elusive lady friend had been wearing last night. They had clearly been ripped off and discarded. ‘Wow!’ Thought Jonathan, ‘did I do that?’ He smiled. ‘It must have been a good night.” However, he then noticed what looked like a spattering of blood on the material and his smile was replaced by a curious expression.
Jonathan slowly sat up, his head banging like a drum, but the headache was soon forgotten as he looked down at himself, immediately seeing he was actually covered in blood spatters as if he had measles. Dried evidence of the sex he had with the girl was caked and matted in his pubic hair, confirming that they had, in fact, made love. Then he looked around him and saw that the bed was also stained with blood and speckled with dried semen.
Then he saw the belt. It was thick and gooey with partially dried blood. The buckle too was covered with it. Gingerly he picked it up and it left a thin red stripe on the bedclothes, like a long smear of paint and Jonathan, horrified, dropped it again quickly.
What the hell had happened? What in God’s name had he done?
Clutching desperately at straws he thought that maybe the blood was his, perhaps he had been injured in some way, or something inside him had ruptured or burst but after hurriedly checking himself he could find nothing and apart from the banging in his head he felt no pain.
Then his eyes fell on the empty whisky glass and he remembered the girl. He thought of how he got when he drank too much whisky; irritable, morose, angry even but never aggressive. At least not previously. But had the drink made him aggressive last night? Had it made him violent? Had he somehow harmed that poor girl?
His heart started beating faster as the panic he was already feeling threatened to overwhelm him. And then the bedroom door opened and Peter Bearing strode confidently into the room.
“Ah, Jonathan, old man, I see you’re awake. We’re in a spot of bother, I’m afraid, as you’ve probably realised from your appearance.”
“Oh, Christ, Peter, please tell me what I’ve done,” Jonathan blurted, tears filling his eyes, “I haven’t hurt anyone have I? That young girl I was with, the pretty one, she’s alright isn’t she? Tell me, Peter, please - for God’s sake tell me everything’s okay.”
Bearing smiled inwardly, this was going to be even easier than he had hoped.
- 2 -
San Francisco, California, 2003
Elizabeth slowly raised her head from her pillow, the mascara from last night’s tears still staining her pale cheeks and the argument with Roger still ringing in her ears. The small cut above her left eye where the wedding ring had struck her - which he had flung at her - was sore and stinging. But the gesture itself had hurt more.
Her head ached as she gently touched the tiny strip of broken skin, about a centimetre long, just above her carefully sculpted eyebrow. She winced, �
��Ouch!” she exclaimed, “Goddamit.” It was going to scar for sure. That son of a bitch.
She was in their bedroom, fully dressed, wearing the blouse and skirt from the night before, having cried herself to sleep after their huge fight. The most violent and vitriolic so far.
Roger had stormed out. He had driven off into the night, drunk, high and angry, the stench of another woman’s perfume still lingering on his clothes. Elizabeth had no clue as to where he was now - probably waking up in a bar or in jail or in the arms of one of his nubile young groupies, she did not know and she no longer cared.
The marriage was not yet a year old but already it was in tatters. Roger’s womanising, his drug and alcohol abuse had fractured it beyond repair and whilst Elizabeth had tried desperately to make it work he had not.
Their romance had been quick, the attraction instant. He was twenty-five with looks to die for, the lead guitarist in an up-coming indie band which was starting to get noticed and she was a twenty-three year old knockout studying fashion and working as a part-time model. A matched couple, at least on paper.
But there had never been true love Elizabeth realised now. Lust and infatuation perhaps but not love. Roger was too self centred, too selfish to commit to anyone and she was too dedicated to her studies and her family to follow him from gig to gig and from party to party. She also realised, much too late, that her family’s money had been a big attraction for him. The upscale apartment they now lived in and the classic Ferrari Daytona he now drove were paid for by her. So was the antique Gibson he now played, which he had begged her for in return for a few more nights at home. But he had welshed on the deal and she had ended up seeing him even less.
It was over. Last night was the final straw. Not least because of the thrown ring which had struck her hard on the temple and the complete lack of remorse shown afterwards. But also because he had not even tried to deny sleeping with other women. Furthermore, his drinking and drug-taking were spiralling out of control. He was living the rock star life style on her allowance and she had finally had enough. Her father and brother had warned her but she had refused to listen. Her foster brother had also tried to talk some sense into her but again she had ignored the advice.
Soon enough she was going to have to call her father’s attorney and instruct him to begin divorce proceedings but not yet. She did not want to burden her father with anything else for the time being as he had already had a terrible week with the resignation of her brother, Jonathan, from the family firm.
Jonathan had been caught up in a horrible scandal involving a young woman whom he had supposedly raped and beaten. The incident had allegedly occurred at the country home of another partner of the firm, Peter Bearing. Bearing had apparently paid off the girl, buying her silence. He had then promised not to mention the matter again on the understanding that Jonathan resign from The Company. Even though Bearing supposedly had extremely incriminating photographs that supported the allegations, Elizabeth didn’t believe a word of it. Her brother was undoubtedly being set up, if not why would Bearing have taken photographs? Besides, Jonathan was gentle, kind and wouldn’t hurt anyone.
Elizabeth’s father, Wendel Wallace, also suspected Bearing of orchestrating the whole thing, utterly convinced that it was all a sham, a complete fabrication. Bearing was a snake who had long wanted rid of both Jonathan and him and would stop at very little to make it happen. However, Jonathan was unable to prove his innocence and the mud would stick unless he did the honourable thing for the good of the firm. It was a despicable manoeuvre on the part of Bearing but Jonathan and her father had been powerless to prevent it and now her brother was out in the cold. Shamed, slandered and broken. Her father, still reeling from the hostility shown by Bearing and under an enormous amount of stress brought on by the whole situation, also knew that his head was next on the block.
Elizabeth had been desperately worried about both her father and brother all week and Roger had been less than sympathetic. In fact he couldn’t have cared less. Rather than give her comfort and support he had gone out on a three day bender and had only come home late last night, completely wasted and stinking of perfume. She had then challenged him about the other women and he had admitted his infidelity, telling her to ‘lighten up’ and saying it was ‘no big deal’, which was how the fight started.
She had little doubt that he would be back at some stage as he relied too much on her money and when he did she would make an attempt to talk to him about a separation. This would possibly spark another fight but they could not go on like this as it was slowly driving them both insane.
However, her immediate plan was to take a long shower, put on a nice dress and go visit her mother, like she did every other Sunday. No matter what had happened in the last twenty four hours or indeed the last week, nothing would keep her from her weekly trip. She got up and walked to the bathroom and was shocked by the image she saw staring back at her in the large mirror over the basin. She looked dreadful, like she had gone a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson. She had a black-eye, with dark purple bruising around the socket and a trickle of dried blood drawing an unsteady red line from the cut above her eyebrow to halfway down her cheek. Her long, silky brown hair was a wild mess and her normally healthy tanned complexion was pale and sallow, the worry of the last week etched into her drawn features. Real Rocky-Horror she thought.
Elizabeth turned on the shower before stripping off her clothes, her young body, firm and toned, with long graceful legs, flat, tight stomach and firm, shapely breasts that most women would kill for. Briefly she looked at herself in the mirror, trying to avoid looking at her bruised and cut face. She was not blind, she knew she was attractive as scores of men had told her so since she was just a girl, but she had only succumbed to the charms of one. She knew she was desirable, sexy even, yet that clearly wasn’t enough for Roger. She had so desperately hoped that it would be, that he would see the error of his ways, quit the womanising, the drugs and the partying - Christ, she had given him enough chances but now she had to face facts. It was over. Screw him. Time to move on.
She put a hand in the stream of water, it was getting nice and hot, the steam starting to fill the large glass enclosure, almost ready to wash last night’s troubles away. Then, on impulse, before stepping in, she picked up the phone which hung on the Italian wall tiles beside the entrance, sat down on the toilet seat and punched in Ronny’s number. It rang several times before her foster brother picked up. “Hello?” he said groggily.
“Oh, Christ, Ronny, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot it was the middle of the night in England - did I wake you?”
“Hi, Elizabeth, not quite the middle of the night but, yeah, it’s early. Really early. Thanks for the wake up call.”
“Sorry, Ronny, I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
“No, no. Don’t worry about it, I’m awake now. You alright? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t realise the time. Just checking in. Worrying about Jonny I guess. Is he okay?”
“Truth is I don’t know,” said Ronny, yawning, “I’m pretty worried myself. He’s really down, Elizabeth, this has really hit him hard. That bastard has just ripped poor Jonathan’s life away, all his self-esteem. I wish to God I knew what to do. I was with him until late last night, he can’t get over it, can’t think about anything else.
I’m more certain than ever that Bearing is behind everything and that none of it was Jonathan’s fault and I know, given time, I can prove it, but he won’t listen. It’s like he’s broken and nothing I say can fix it.
I offered to stay over but he insisted that I came home. I’m going round this morning again though to check on him.”
“That’s good, Ronny,” said Elizabeth, “I wish I was there with you. I’m sure Jonny could do with us both right now. Dad too. How’s he?”
“I’m sorry to say that he’s not good either. Worried sick about Jonathan, concerned for h
is own position at the firm - convinced that Bearing’s trying to get rid of him too.”
“You think he is?” Elizabeth asked.
“I’m sure he is. Peter Bearing is a cold, calculating bastard. He’s got rid of Jonathan and now his sights are well and truly set on Dad. It’s only a matter of time, Elizabeth, I tell you. Bearing’s devious. Nothing will stand in his way not even Wendel Wallace. Dad needs to be really careful.”
“Jesus, Ronny. What a mess. How can one man cause all this heartache?”
“He won’t get away with it, Elizabeth. I promise you. One day, some how, he’ll pay for what he’s doing to our family.”
“I hope so,” replied Elizabeth. “I really do.”
“Anyway, enough about all that,” said her foster brother, “How about you - are you alright - and Roger?”
“Yeah, well, not really I guess, but I’ll tell you about it some other time - you’ve got enough on your plate, Ronny, without me adding to it.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ve got a big plate, I can handle it. Now what’s up? That spoilt rock star not treating you right?”
“Just a fight. I’m fine. Honest. I’ll tell you about it some other time, promise.”
“Sure? I can come over there and kick his backside you know, if that’s what you want - just say the word and I’ll be there.”
“I know, Ronny, thanks. You’re a good brother.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what big brothers are for you know.”
“I know,” said Elizabeth, wishing she could tell him about last night, desperate for his strength and advice, but no matter what he said, he really did have enough on his plate and he couldn’t be her rock at the moment because others needed him more. “You just take good care of Jonny.”
“I will. I promise.”
“I know, Ronny. Goodnight.
“Hey,” replied her foster brother, “That’s not my name you know. I’m grown up now and no one calls me that anymore.”
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