by Ian Harwood
“That doesn’t sound encouraging.”
“No. I guess not. But he’s all right. Just a little morbid. It’s understandable, I suppose. He’s coming to terms with his mortality. Hopefully, he’ll have poured all of that out on to me.”
Her lips turn down, the edges sinking so that her mouth is a picture of misery. I’m not surprised when they start to tremble and her mouth opens to start nibbling on the delicate flesh.
Lifting a hand, I cup her face and say, “Don’t worry, Juliet. Just go and speak to him. I’ll be out here. Waiting.”
She nods but it’s in a brave way; as though she’ll force back the tears and hold in her upset so as not to add to her father’s strain.
Sinking into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the corridor, I watch her back as she disappears into the room and I rest my head against the wall.
Before I realize it, I’m being shaken awake by Juliet. She’s looking brighter. Her eyes are a little dewy and I doubt she stopped herself from crying but I think Bernard’s made her feel better. Her words confirm it.
“We should go and get some proper rest.”
So saying and before I can even speak myself, she helps me up and the pair of us almost stagger down the corridor and into the lift, then finally out into the vestibule and the outside beckons.
It’s cold. As usual. Grim and murky with fog. The sun’s weak rays can’t penetrate the thick swathes of air and while visibility is poor, it isn’t difficult to move about. And when I spot a taxi, I don’t care if the fog turns blue, I just want a bed. I want Juliet in it and I don’t want to wake up for at least twenty-four hours straight.
Driving through London is a blur; I see nothing and when Juliet slumps against me, her chin bumping her chest, I join her in sleep. The knocking of the driver against the Plexiglas separating the front from the back jolts me awake. He opens the little window and murmurs in a low voice so as not to disturb Juliet – a very kind gesture- gives me the price of the fare. I give him a large tip for his kindness and manage to manoeuvre Juliet out of the cab and into my arms.
Thankful that she gave me the keys to her place so that I could pass them on to her friend, when she collected some pieces for Juliet, I stride towards the building and let myself in.
The concierge desk is empty; the shining marble floors are slick beneath my feet, especially as the soles of my shoes are slightly damp. In my arms, Juliet is a slight burden and it’s one that I could happily carry for the rest of my life.
But now is no time for thoughts of that nature. I make it to her apartment without any difficulties and let myself in. Zooming in on the bedroom, I place her on the bed and remove her coat and shoes as well as her trousers. She can sleep in the T-shirt she’s wearing without any discomfort.
For myself, I strip down to nothing and climb into bed. Tucking her into my side, I sleep.
A strange sound prods me out of my rest and even though I fight it, the battle’s already won and I’m the loser. Sleep disintegrates out of my reach and I’m awake.
Even though I’d prefer to still be a tourist in the land of nod, I climb out of bed feeling a lot better than I did when I climbed into it.
Stretching, I let the blood flow round my body and pull on the trousers I’d discarded before I slept. Decent now, I seek out the source of the weird noise.
In the hallway, there are a few print-outs. Glancing at them, and looking at my watch I notice that Juliet has got us on a flight departing in a few hours’ time. I also notice that the pair of us or me in particular, have been asleep for the last sixteen hours.
That was some nap.
Before I can congratulate myself on a sleep well done, the noises that penetrated my subconscious make a reappearance.
“What is that?” I mutter to myself and walk into the living room.
My eyes are still a little blurry from sleep, but now, ten feet away, my ears don’t and can’t deceive me. Moans, groans. Cries of pleasure and pain. Shrieks of ecstasy and desperation.
My mouth almost cocks up into a grin at the idea of Juliet watching porn, especially by herself, when a head of blond hair suddenly takes up the centre of the screen. And even though her back is to us, I’d know that hair anywhere.
Sandra.
Rubbing my eyes, I hope they’re deceiving me. But they’re not.
I’m on the tape too. Fucking one of Sandra’s friends; a woman she invited to come and play with us one night.
Any arousal I’d felt at Juliet watching this kind of thing jackhammers to the ground. Even though my eyes are glued to the screen, I force them away in an attempt to seek out Juliet. She’s sat on the sofa; her body half-tilted towards me and towards the screen.
I can feel her gaze on me and then, switching to the TV. Remote in hand, she fast-forwards the homemade porn flick that Sandra created without my awareness and stops at a close up of my face.
I have only one thing to say.
“Shit.”
****
For the last hour of the flight into Milan, not a word passed between us. And that’s not a lot, considering the first hour consisted of silence!
She hasn’t spoken to me; not uttered one word and God help me, I keep trying.
More than anything, I just keep saying ‘I’m sorry’. And if I’m honest, ‘sorry’ doesn’t sit well on my lips, but for her and for this fucking situation, I’ll say it as many times as she wants to hear it.
In a way, I’m surprised Sandra was shrewd enough to pull off such a move. Sending the DVD to my employer’s daughter rather than myself. Although I guess it all depends on how you look at it.
She’s scuppered her chances at blackmail.
But, if she knew anything about me, she knew there wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance of that ever coming to pass anyway. So, she’s done this to cause trouble.
And even though I don’t deserve the silent treatment, because none of this occurred at my instigation, Juliet should never have been exposed to that film.
In truth, I’m as shocked as hell that Sandra filmed me. I’ve been exploited and further so, because if that bitch gets her way, I’ve lost the only woman I’ve ever wanted to be with on a permanent basis.
I can’t let that happen but I’m at a loss as to how to resolve the situation. Every overture I make, every apology I utter, nothing. Nada. Zilch. She just keeps on staring out of the window.
Looking at my watch and checking the time, I realize I’ve got about another twenty or so minutes of flight time. After that, she’ll probably go to sleep in the car because it’s nearing eleven in the evening UK time and I might not get another chance to talk to her until the morning.
Rather than take the submissive route, as I’ve been doing, I turn to her and state, “I’m sorry that you had to see that, Juliet. But it wasn’t my doing and it wasn’t my intention that anyone would ever see it. The woman, the blonde you saw on screen, filmed me without my permission. She also took stills; something else, I didn’t realize was happening.
“A few months ago, when I broke up with her, she came to me and threatened me with blackmail. This is obviously my punishment for not doing as she wanted.”
My voice is hushed so that every Tom, Dick or Harry on his or her way to Milan for a shopping trip can’t overhear what is essentially a private conversation that shouldn’t really be taking place on a busy flight.
Again, silence meets my words and just before I lose my temper, her head whips around, her left brow is cocked in question and she asks, “Since when were you into piercings and tattoos, Joe?”
Whatever I’d expected her to say, it wasn’t that. For a full five seconds, I’m speechless and then, her lips twitch and she grins at me.
Honest to God grins.
Sandra had brought in a friend by the name of Rose. During our relationship, I’d met her a few times and always been astonished by two things. Her appearance and her career.
Head to toe in tattoos and piercings, even though she was a lawyer.
That being said, I’d seen her once all togged up for the office and it’s amazing how she hid all of the metal and ink.
I’d never been attracted to her; that isn’t my kind of thing, but when Sandra suggested a threesome, what red-blooded kind of guy would I have been to refuse?
“If you think I didn’t know what you were up to with all those girls, then you’re either stupid or you think I am.” Jule’s words break into my thoughts and I grimace.
“Knowing about it and then being confronted with it are two different things.”
“You’re not wrong and can I say that I enjoyed watching you fuck two women?” Her eyes widen a little, as she shakes her head. “No. I didn’t. If you must know, I was jealous. But unless you intend to see the metal head and the blonde bimbo again, then I don’t need to be, do I?”
“Of course not. I told you. Sandra and I were over months ago. Personally, I never want to see her again, but if she made some more home movies then I can’t promise that that’s a possibility. She could pop up at any time and I have no control over that.”
“No, but that’s against your will. I can handle that. And I don’t expect you to have had a rosy past, Joe. Because I know for a fact you haven’t, but as long as that’s tamed while you’re with me, then we won’t have a problem.”
I want to say I’m relieved and to a point, I am. But at the same time, if she isn’t angry, then what was with the sulking?
I’d ask, but I feel like I’d be pushing my luck. Christ, I’m fortunate that she hasn’t exploded over this morning. What woman wants to wake up to the sight of her boyfriend fucking two women…?
No woman.
Even so, even knowing that I’m lucky, I seethe a little and eventually, she turns to me and says, “What?”
Frowning at her, I shrug. “Nothing.”
“Spit it out. You might be sat there in silence but you’re speaking a mile a minute.”
“Nothing. Seriously. Just forget it.”
“Typical man. You can’t just count your blessings, can you?” She shakes her head and sighs. “I was upset; I won’t deny it. This morning, not only was it a shock and not a pleasant one at that, but it hurt me and like I said, I was jealous. But I got over it. Me being quiet was me getting over it.
“I’m used to being jealous where you’re concerned. But I’ve never come face to face with anything like that before. It just took me a while to process.”
Can I deny that I like the second part? That she’s used to being jealous where I’m concerned?
A wide grin nearly cracks my jaw and she sees it and honest to God growls at me.
“You can be a real idiot at times.”
The only thing I can say to that is, “I love you, Juliet.”
I’ve shocked her. I can tell and I’m glad. I didn’t plan on telling her my feelings; not for a long while yet and that’s simply because it’s not in my nature to share the way I feel. But it just seemed the right time.
Rather than pressure her into making a similar admission, whether she does or not I don’t know, I reach for her hand and link my fingers with her. Tilting my head back, I close my eyes and show her that I don’t expect an answer.
For what feels like the longest time, she doesn’t move and then, she curls into my side and rests her head on my shoulder.
Why this woman brings me peace, when she churns me up inside like no other is simply an accident of fate.
But a happy accident, for all that.
The rest of the flight and the drive home took place with few words. But this time, there was no atmosphere to put either of us on edge. In the pitch black, we travelled down the autostrada towards Bergamo and arrived before two in the morning.
By the time we reach the villa, exhaustion has set in again. We’re both yawning, both shifting in our seats and both looking forward to getting into bed. But as soon as we pull up outside the house, we notice that there are lights on in the back.
As peculiar as Brigida’s life is, lights are always out at midnight if there’s no one in the lower part of the house. By this time, Cass is always in her room. Christ, she never leaves the damn place! And considering Juliet and I are in the car, the villa should be otherwise vacant.
From Juliet’s stillness, I can only assume that’s she made the same realization.
“Someone’s in.”
“Yeah, but there shouldn’t be. Who do you think it is, Joe?”
“How about someone looking to cause trouble?” Carefully, I climb out of the car and shut the door as quietly as I can. “Stay here. I don’t want you to be in any danger.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, what danger? I’m coming in with you,” she hisses. “As if I’d let you go in on your own.”
I want to roll my eyes, but her obstinacy is charming. “Can’t you just do as I ask? What if it’s Angelo?”
“Why would he be here? No one apart from Monica even knows we’re coming back tonight! And that’s because I texted her when I made the booking a few hours ago!”
“Well, the lights are on and the only dodgy people we know –who don’t already live with us! - are Angelo and Clordina. They could be up to anything in there.”
“You think they’re rifling through our stuff?”
“I think Brigida’s been doing that from day one.”
“Then why are they here?”
“I don’t know but I intend to find out.”
Before she can say a word, I start on my way to the house and then stop in my tracks as my mobile phone buzzes. Grabbing it, I notice the incoming text alert and open it.
Judge has just come through with a warrant; tomorrow, the Guardia di Finanza purges the factory of Brigida’s gang. My kidnapper came through as a snitch. If you want to see the raid, be there at eleven thirty in the morning. Should be fun.
Monica
“Shit,” I whisper and turn around, almost bumping into Juliet, who, of course, didn’t do as I’d asked. I pass her the phone and in the bright light, see her face cloud with confusion.
“This is a bad thing?”
“It would explain why someone is in the house at this time of night. They could be looking for something… or trying to hide it. I don’t know but Cass could be in danger.”
“Do you think we should call the police?”
“What and have them turn up, guns blazing, to find Brigida sat reading the paper with a cup of hot chocolate at her side? I don’t think so. I’ve got a gut feeling it isn’t Brigida, but I could be wrong. Ali hates me as it is!”
Without waiting for her, I stalk forwards and carefully manoeuvre my way around the veranda which has creaking steps. The front door is unlocked and I open it incrementally to make sure that no squeak could give us away.
Walking along the hallway using my mobile as a light, I wander to the back part of the house where the light’s coming from. There’s a long, almost hallway-like room. No doors, just a long gallery with paintings adorning the walls and lots of comfortable seating areas.
I hover in the doorway and feeling Juliet close at my side, don’t jump when she brushes against my back.
I hold her back, when my eyes come into contact with the room’s occupants. As soon as I lay eyes on them, one thought runs through my head.
We’re fucked.
Chapter Fourteen
Just as I thought the situation couldn’t deteriorate; I have to rethink my position as I hear a sound that I’ve only ever heard in the movies. The part of London where I spent my formative years wasn’t exactly upper class. We had the odd break in, an infrequent ram raid but never, ever did I come across a gun.
Of course, that might have changed now. But when I was a kid, the most perilous situation I came across was falling, headfirst off the monkey bars in the school playground. As painful as that was, as many stitches I needed to endure, I’ll bet it’s nothing like the rip and the tear of a bullet plundering through flesh.
And somehow, the sound is just as I imagined the
cocking of a pistol would be but it’s somehow a thousand times worse. Louder. Sharper. More abrasive so that it rubs along the little hairs in my eardrum and triggers an earthquake within.
Juliet’s quivering translates itself to me and considering Angelo, Clordina and Gianni Ali are tucked away inside the gallery, I figure it can only be one person standing there.
It has to be Brigida.
There’s no other Marx brother roaming around this bloody house.
A part of me wants to rub my eyes and question if one of the Guardia di Finanza’s top guys is, in fact, in league with the devil. But I’m not going blind and I don’t need glasses. De Ali is there; and he was chatting to a smug Angelo and Clordina was perched on his lap, looking like the cat who had managed to nick all the cream.
Nor am I in need of a hearing aid.
That was a gun and taking refuge within my thoughts isn’t going to make the pistol-toting bitch disappear.
But what the fuck am I supposed to do?
“Brigida,” I murmur in a low voice, trying to be calm as I inch upwards and out of my crouch and away from the door I was peeking behind. I stand and slide my feet across the floor so that Juliet can manoeuvre behind me and I’m in the line of fire rather than her.
A part of me is relieved to see the old bitch. I don’t think I can take anymore shocks. The idea of Marco popping up, dressed in hole-free clothes and smelling of aftershave while aiming a gun my way, might just have finished me off. Before a bullet had the chance of ripping my insides to shreds.
“Be quiet and get in there.”
Ordinarily, her English is about two footsteps away from being perfect; but now, for whatever reason, it’s as clogged as a wig stuck down a drain pipe.
She sounds like she’s been crying. And I can understand her desire. As soon as Juliet and I step into that room, we’re brown bread. Dead. To be quite frank that is not how I intended to spend my evening.
Wishing to God I’d never set foot in bloody Italy, I try and calm the situation down a tad. “Brigida, there’s no need for this.”
“There’s every need, you fool.”