Under His Influence

by Justine Elyot

  “If I’d known, I’d have brought a head scarf,” she commented, putting a hand on the top of her head. “I feel like I’m in a James Bond film. It’s so glamorous.”

  “A what film? James Bond?” John seemed bemused.

  Perhaps he was too busy concentrating on his driving. She decided to help him out. “Yeah, you know, James Bond. Licensed to kill with gun or bare hand or whatever. And always driving the best cars.”

  John seemed to approve of the idea. “Do you really think so? I’m afraid I don’t have a license to kill.”

  “Well, that’s good. I think. I don’t really want to be killed.”

  “I wouldn’t kill my own sidekick, would I? I was just thinking about what I’d do if any serious supervillains came along.”

  “Oh, I don’t know any of those. I think we’ll be okay. Where are we going, anyway?”

  Anna had been sure that one of the big Mayfair or West End hotels would be their destination, but now they were crossing Kensington and Notting Hill Gate, travelling north-eastwards again until they were at the periphery of Regent’s Park.

  “Aha,” was all John would say. “One of the best dining spots in London.”

  Anna settled into her seat and watched John drive. He was, as promised, a careful driver, and he negotiated the sometimes hair-raising city traffic with skill and aplomb, though on a couple of occasions he lost his cool and swore viciously at whichever hapless learner or aggressive cab driver crossed his path. Anna could not drive herself, but admired people who found it easy, having abandoned all efforts to learn after the hundred and second failed three-point-turn. John had rolled up his shirtsleeves and Anna was mesmerised by his strong forearm and wrist, with its chunky, heavy watch, turning the wheel as if programmed to do so, while his other hand hovered about the gearstick when the traffic was slow, or landed rather thrillingly on her thigh or neck when it wasn’t.

  I know so little about him, she thought with a tiny shock, as they climbed ever higher towards Hampstead. Should I even be in a car with this man? Where is he taking me? All the dating advice tells you to meet men in a neutral setting, or take a friend, or have somebody call or text one at certain points in the evening, so why am I just taking off with this near-stranger whose surname I don’t even know?

  Anna felt as if she were on a high wire; her stomach roiled and sweat broke out on her brow, yet the exhilaration so outgunned the fear that she lifted her face to the orange-streaked heavens, willing them to let this be, to let it work.

  “Almost there now,” he said, smiling and ruffling her hair at her nape. She quivered under his touch—he did it all so well. Had he studied somewhere?

  And then they were there, at Hampstead Heath. Anna stared at John questioningly as he parked and switched off the engine.

  “Hampstead Heath?”

  “You know it?”

  “I live quite near here.”

  “Oh? Good. So do I.”

  “So, um, dinner…?”

  John was already out of the car, retrieving something from the boot—a large wicker picnic hamper and a rolled-up mat.

  “Oh!” Anna laughed, hopping out onto the sandy ground. “A picnic! I never thought of that.”

  “Why waste an evening like this?” John looked up at the sun, which was still a long way from setting despite the intensifying colours of the sky. “Come on. I know the perfect spot. Don’t fall over on those heels, will you? Perhaps you ought to take them off.”

  Anna bent sheepishly and removed the strappy sparklers, then walked barefoot across the lush grassland behind John, past the dog walkers and groups of people taking in the last of the sun’s rays for the day until they reached a quiet spot, almost on the shores of a lake, and John relieved himself of his burdens.

  He unrolled the rug and snapped open the hamper, beckoning Anna to come and sit down.

  “That looks amazing,” she sighed, looking inside at the cold meats, cheeses, fruits and the miniature bottle of pink champagne. “Did you go and buy all that today?”

  “Well, no, I ordered it,” he admitted, shrugging. “I don’t really shop. Hard to find the time these days.”

  Anna remembered something he had said, and sat watching him roll out cloths and lay knives, forks and plates before asking him, “What did you go and see my editor about? Last night? Was it a good dinner?”

  “Probably not as good as this will be,” he said, continuing to focus on his preparations, popping the champagne cork and pouring Anna a glass.

  “Aren’t you having any?”

  “No, I’ll stick to water. Don’t want to drink and drive, especially when the weather’s warm.”

  “Oh, okay. Cheers, anyway.” She raised the glass of pink bubbles, noting that he had not answered her question. “So Prendergast wasn’t as bad as I made him out to be?” she persisted.

  “No, no.” John chuckled, eyeing her sidelong as he set out the different foods. “He was fine.”

  “Why did you meet him? Are you giving up finance? Branching out into…business reporting, or something?”

  “Actually, I am thinking of retiring from the City.”

  “Retiring? How old are you?”

  “As old as the hills.” John sat back, taking a chicken drumstick and tearing a chunk out. “Nah, I’m thirty-eight. But I’ve made lots of money. More money than anyone could ever possibly need. I’m thinking of using that money to advance some interesting technology projects I’ve been getting involved with.”

  “Technology? You’re, like, a scientist then?”

  “It’s what I studied, before going into the City. I’ve made connections with some influential people and organisations. It would be nice to have the press on our side, because we might need to do a little lobbying of the government at some point. All things being equal.” He smiled, a little coldly, and raised his glass of water. “But it’s all deadly dull. Not the thing to be discussing on an evening like this, over champagne and strawberries. I’d much rather talk about you.”

  “Oh, you know all about me.”

  “No, I don’t. I thought you were a journalist. But you aren’t, are you?”

  “No. Oh, well, not really. Not yet. Would like to be. But I’m just a lowly sub-editor. Or rather, an even lowlier trainee sub-editor.”

  “Can’t you get in on some kind of graduate training scheme?”

  “Well, there is one. But it’s fiercely competitive. My friend Mimi is doing it, but she was one of three to get taken on. From over a thousand applicants.”

  “Wow. Over a thousand? There are college courses though, aren’t there? Or perhaps a local paper might be a bit less competitive?”

  “I kind of like the vibe at the Recorder. It’s exciting, you know. All the news coming in. All the famous people in the lifts. Plus I think if I stick around and get to know a few of Mimi’s friends… You never know. I mean, it’s who you know, isn’t it? Not what you know.”

  “So they say. I’m not sure ‘they’ are the most reliable advisors though.”

  “I couldn’t afford another college course anyway. Spent all my inheritance money at university.”

  “Inheritance money?”

  “Yes. I didn’t answer you when you asked about my parents last night. Actually, they’re dead.”

  John was silent for a moment, stroking the stem of his glass contemplatively. “I’m sorry. That must have been tough on you.”

  She looked away, shrugging. “It’s okay. Fourteen years ago now. More than half my life.”

  He took her hand, forcing her gaze back to him.

  “It’s not really okay, is it?” he said softly. “Who cares for you, Anna? Who is there to pick up the pieces for you?”

  “I’ve got good friends. Oh, don’t be all kind and concerned, or I’ll cry, and I don’t think salt goes with champagne. Please?”

  “Okay.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll be cruel and heartless instead. Have some of this smoked salmon. It’s very good. Oh, and they’ve packed a pot of
Gentleman’s Relish. I’m not sure I’m gentlemanly enough for Gentleman’s Relish.”

  “Oh, you are.” Anna wiped the tear that had been lurking in the corner of her eye and grinned at John. “Definitely.”

  The sun sank slowly, low and orange, as Anna and John ate, the air growing colder by small degrees until Anna shivered a little and hugged her bare arms.

  “Cold?” John moved up beside her and put an arm around her, pulling her into his side and popping a cream-dipped strawberry into her mouth. “Let me keep you warm.” They lay down, Anna nestled against John’s lean body, and just held each other, quietly, enjoying the feel of each other’s skin and shape and ins and outs, dreaming together under the lowering London sun. John plucked absently at Anna’s hair, tangled from the drive, while she buried her nose between his shirt buttons and tried to capture his essence in her memory.

  “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” he asked suddenly. “You’re gorgeous, bright, sweet. What’s wrong with you?”

  She snuffled happily into his chest. “I don’t know—there must be something though. Perhaps I don’t like boys.”

  “You mean you like girls?”

  “No. I mean perhaps I prefer men. I rarely get to meet a man.”

  “Ah. That’s good. Oh, I’ve just remembered. I brought a little…musical thing.” He sat up and poked about inside the hamper until he uncovered an MP3 player with tiny speakers wired in. “Do you like music?”

  “Love it!”

  “Then I think we should dance.”

  He pressed a button, then pulled Anna to her bare feet and across the grass, encircling her with his arms and holding her close as a wistful, ethereal tune floated out and over them, capturing them in its melody. It wasn’t dancing, thought Anna, leaning against John while he guided her slowly and caressingly in his arms along the shores of the lake. It was more like lovemaking, a higher love, a beautiful meeting of—hearts or…even souls. She felt so much a part of him, so close to him, so grateful to him, that he could have done anything with her, anything at all.

  The lake water shimmered, reflecting burnt orange, then red, and Anna was burning as bright as the sun, drinking in her man, her John, with his swan neck and his eyes that could see through and into you and his face you could not look away from, and those lips, those infinitely kissable lips…

  He looked down, and Anna felt, bone deep, that he knew what she was thinking, because he put one hand at the back of her neck and their cheeks met, their noses nudged and then their mouths were together, the way they were meant to be, kissing the sun down, kissing out the stars, kissing as if the world would end if they broke the lock on their lips, until the night fell.

  Chapter Three

  She could see his face on the ceiling, hear his voice in the silent night. As she lay fully clothed on her unmade bed, Anna tried to charm his touch back to her skin, willing it to speed on the particles of greyish light that half lit the room. She had lain like that for hours now, in rapture, immobilised by passion, sick with infatuation. She had never dreamed there could be love like this, never in all the years of crushes and teenage romances and exchanges of solemn tokens behind the big oak tree in the school grounds. This was so big and so all-consuming that it would almost be frightening if it weren’t so amazing, brilliant, every starry-eyed adjective in the lovers’ dictionary. When sleep eventually wove itself into her tapestry of John-thoughts, she was rehearsing her name: Anna Stone, Mrs. Stone, Anna Rice-Stone, Anna Maria Stone…

  “Mrs. Stone.” It was his voice, and she was somewhere familiar, a wood not far from her childhood home, except the trees were different, in an unusual cluster. “I will find you. Where are you? Don’t hide from me.” She did not want to hide from him. She tried to part the branches, but they were moving, creeping in her path and she could not get out of the glade.

  “John!” she called, looking for him, up into the sky, but the trees were bending, their topmost branches meshing together, blocking out the light. “John!”

  “I will find you. Why are you hiding?”

  She wanted to answer but her voice had gone, and now she could not move, for the branches were winding and locking themselves around her ankles, and her wrists, and her waist. She was their prisoner, helpless and voiceless, unable to reach out for John. She could hear his voice, sounding worried now, and she could do nothing except let the tears roll down her face until she was blinded, completely in the dark, and something dark and hot pressed itself between her legs; a forceful thing, a bundle of tongue, pushing and licking there, and although she knew it was wrong and she wanted it to go, she could only stand there, bound and gagged and blindfolded, and let it bring her to that pitch of pleasure she had so wanted to save for her husband.

  When she awoke, she was gasping and there were tears in her eyes, even though the telltale stickiness between her legs indicated that the rush of climax had been real. She let a few tears leak out, needing an emotional release after the intensity of the dream. The illuminated clock face read 4:14 a.m. Her mobile bleeped—surely an old message, not a new one at this time of night? She flipped it open and read two words: “Sweet dreams.”

  “Have you ever been to the opera? He wants to take me to the opera. What shall I wear?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been a few times.” Mimi peered over Anna’s shoulder at her blotter, on which she had scribbled various versions of her “newlywed” signature. John Stone. The name rang a bell. Was it an alarm bell, or just an innocent ding-a-ling? “Is it Covent Garden or the Coliseum?”

  “Covent Garden, I think.”

  “Ah. Dressy then. I take it all went well last night, did it?”

  Anna’s face gave her the answer she needed, and Mimi wondered why she felt uncomfortable. Her friend was happy, in love with a man who seemed to be mightily taken with her. Even if it eventually came to nothing, a little summer fun couldn’t hurt, could it?

  “Oh, Anna.” She tried to hide her concern behind a tone of maiden-aunt indulgence. “You don’t have to fall madly for every attractive man you see. Enjoy yourself. It needn’t be undying love all the time.”

  “Do you think he’s attractive?” Anna’s voice was dreamy. “It’s funny; I sort of didn’t notice at first. But he is, isn’t he? He’s just…magnetic. And his eyes just hold you.”

  “He’s no minger, that’s for sure,” Mimi reassured. “Do you have an evening gown? I’d lend you one but it would drown you. There’s always the hire places.”

  “He says what I wore yesterday will be fine. Do you know where he took me in the end?”

  Mimi resigned herself to ten more minutes of Anna’s ecstatic trilling before heading upstairs to her own office, where she had an appointment with Google.

  Half an hour later, Liam’s desk phone rang.

  “Hullo, Liam McGlynn speaking.”

  “Liam, it’s Mimi from Editorial. Listen. What do you think of Anna?”

  “Anna?” He lowered his voice, peering over the top of his desk divider at the girl in question, who was typing away with an expression of beatific serenity. “She’s lovely. Why?”

  “Do you fancy her?”

  “Well, yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. What’s this about?”

  “Why the hell haven’t you asked her out, you lunatic? She fancies you rotten.”

  “No! Does she really? Seriously?” Liam straightened his shoulders and ran fingers through his hair, looking again over the rim of his domain into hers. “Why didn’t you say before?”

  “I thought it was obvious.” Mimi made a noise of disgusted disbelief. “Right. Well. Hopefully all is not lost. Ask her out. Tell her you’ve got tickets for the Kaiser Chiefs at the O2 tonight.”

  “I haven’t though.”

  “I have. You can have them.”

  “What? What the fuck… Mimi, is this some kind of wind-up?”

  “I wish. Just do it, will you? Please? Pretty please? And call me back afterwards.”

  “Well… Okay. Was going for beers
with the lads after work though. It’s Friday.”

  “Beers with the lads? Liam. A beautiful girl has the hots for you. Are you a man or a eunuch?”

  “She really fancies me?”

  “Really. I promise.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you back.” Liam licked his fingertips and adjusted the gelled spiky bits on top of his head, fiddled with his tie and stood to his full lanky length, opting for a casual saunter on the way to Anna’s desk.

  “What’s up, foxy?” he opened, leaning against her divider with an elbow draped across the top, smirking down at her in a way he hoped might be smouldering.

  “Oh, hi, Liam. Just knuckling down to that thing we quaintly call work. Is it coffee time already?” She looked vaguely at the wall clock.

  “Not coffee time. But time for…something else. Not coffee.” Liam coughed. He needed to fine-tune his chat-up techniques. Usually girls propositioned him—this was hard work.

  “A smoothie, maybe? It’s quite warm today. But I don’t think it’s coffee time yet—it’s only half past ten.”

  “Help me out here, Anna.”

  This is the bit where the lightbulb pings and you blush and start twirling hair round your finger and all those signs they tell you to look out for in the ‘Does She Fancy You?’ columns.

  “Do you like me?” he asked.

  “Of course I like you. You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

  “Ah. Just my friend?”

  Anna laughed. Not the reaction he was looking for. “Umm, I don’t understand the question, I’m afraid.”

  “Okay, try this one.” Why couldn’t he control his breathing? She’d think he was some kind of pervert in a dirty mac at this rate. “Will you come and see the Kaiser Chiefs with me tonight?”

  “Liam! Have you been let down?”

  “No, no, I haven’t, I just…well, I was hoping that you…might…”

  “You are…asking me out? On a date?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded vigorously. “A date. Yeah.”