Brian walks into the room and lowers himself into a chair and sits forward. He is sporting bronze stubble and looks uneasy. My senses flash a warning and adrenalin starts frothing into my veins. His eyes, always deliberately expressionless anyway, are flat and dead. I’ve known him a long time.
‘You’re not going to like this,’ he says.
A man like him is not prone to exaggeration. In fact, he is like a black hole sucking in all kinds of information and observations and never giving anything back. At his words a strange coldness invades my body. It is already so tense that it feels as if every nerve is screaming, but I force myself not to react.
‘We picked up the pings that came off the unidentified mobile phones that Ben was in contact with. We ran through every number on them for the last six months. One of the numbers was registered to a woman called Angel Levene. She works in the mental asylum Victoria is committed in. But here’s the real kicker. The one time it was used to call Ben’s number, the tower that served it was located close to the mental asylum.’
A chill goes through my body. I gape. ‘Victoria?’
Brian doesn’t say anything. A corner of his eye twitches. I never noticed that nervous tic in his cheek. I drop my eyes to the papers on my table and see a blur of white. You’re not going to like this. It has scared the shit out of me. I’m fucking terrified.
Fruitcake Victoria’s got my son? The implications are beyond anything I could have imagined.
For a long time after Brian leaves I do nothing. Simply stare out of the window. Shocked by how blissfully unaware I had been of the impending storm. Once, I would never have been caught so unprepared. I have changed. I’ve become soft. Then I get up and go to look for her. She is in the south facing reception room. She spends most of her time there now. The rest of the house seems so full of cold-eyed men. I can hear strains of Puccini’s Nessun Dorma as I get closer. It makes my hair stand on end.
Nobody shall sleep! Nobody shall sleep! Even you. O Princess.
I stand at the door and watch her, how still she is. When I move into the room, she catches the movement and starts rising to meet me, but she is seemingly so dazed she has to test the sole of her shoe on the floor before she puts her weigh on that foot.
We stand a few feet away from each other. I’ll never be able to listen to Turandot again without having this feeling that I am a falling glass, about to hit the tiles. About to shatter into a thousand pieces.
Fifteen
Lana Barrington
He stands at the door of the living room. He knows something. And it’s not good. I stand and look at him expectantly.
‘Victoria’s got him.’
Time stops. I freeze. He freezes. Then I am flying across the room to him—he catches me and holds me so tightly against his chest my feet lift off the ground. I begin to sob into his neck.
‘Don’t, my darling. Don’t cry, don’t,’ he whispers again and again, but I cannot stop. I want to blame someone, but there is no one to blame.
He gathers a fistful of my hair and pulls my face away from his neck and kisses me. His kiss is odd. It is as if with that kiss he wants to suck away my pain. There is no erection against my stomach. Even in my sorrow, I hate that. It feels wrong. Everything is wrong. I let the strange passionless kiss go on and on and then I break away and stare at him breathlessly.
‘But you said she is locked away in an asylum?’
‘She is.’
I frown. ‘Then how can she…? I don’t understand.’
‘Victoria is more resourceful than I gave her credit for.’
So there is someone I can blame. I can blame him. He is at fault. It is his fault that my baby is gone. At that moment I feel his separateness from me. My face twists at my own crazy thoughts. I pull myself back from that cliff edge. But even that one second of doubt and blame that I indulge in breaks something precious. I break ‘us’.
I see his face change and a look of such hurt and pain come into his eyes that I am immediately filled with regret. He has given me so much and asked for so little in return. My hands rush up to his neck and wrap themselves tightly around it.
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, darling. I did not mean it. I love you. You’re the last person I want to hurt. I’m just so scared I don’t know what I’m saying.’
‘But you are right. It is my fault. You entrusted me with his safety. I have failed. I have let both of you down.’ His voice is scarily quiet. In all the time I have known him I have never heard it so. It feels as if he has walked away from me, for good. I pull back and stare at him. Could it be that what we had was nothing? That with one moment of mistrust he could walk away. That our great love cannot survive this tragedy.
He turns away from me, and my betrayal of him during his time of greatest need. I try to pull him back to me, but he is already striding away. I watch the door shut behind him with horror.
For some time I wait. His footsteps become fainter. I listen intently. Maybe he will realize and come back. Of course he will come. A whole minute passes. He’s not coming back. When I hear his car start outside, I sink to the floor and, holding onto my belly with both hands, sob—ugly wrenching wails that come from a place I did not know existed.
I did not feel this depth of loss even when I walked away from Blake, pregnant and lost, and left for Iran. It seems as if all this while I was playing at motherhood. I have known nothing, but the fun stuff. But this—this hurts so fucking bad.
‘Oh God. Oh God. Please don’t take my son away from me. Please. He’s just a baby. Take me.’
Suddenly, I stop blubbering. There it is. The truth that was staring me in the face the whole time. It is not Blake’s fault. It is mine. I came back to Blake. I dared her wrath. I was the one who was so naïve and stupid I did not think further than my passion. Both Billie and Jack warned me and I did not listen. It’s not Blake that is to blame. It is me. I stole another woman’s man.
I took her money, and arrogantly, stupidly thought nothing would come of it. That there would be no consequences. No debt collectors would come a calling.
I bite my fist.
Then I find my mind clearing. There is nothing to cloud it. I have lost my son and I have lost Blake. There is not even an erection between us left.
Without lust, I see my path clearly. It is as if it is lit by a thousand lanterns. My mother stands at the end of it. It is not Sorab that Victoria wants. It is me. All I have to do is give Blake up. That’s all. A sob chokes me. I am surprised by it. By the selfish instinct that prompted it. I stand. I know exactly what must be done.
Blake in exchange for my son.
Another traitorous sob rises up my throat. I swallow it down. Silent tears begin to run down my face. It is only my body making its stand. I’m not about to listen to it. I stand up and go to my bedroom. I open my jewelry box. I lift the first tray. Throw it to the ground. The second tray follows quickly. I take a cleansing breath. A breath of love. There it is. Her card. All this time I saved it. Why? Because some cautious part of me knew this day was coming.
I take it out and look at it. The truth is I don’t need to look at it. Every single letter and number on it is indelibly imprinted into my memory bank.
I go to the bedside and the phone. I sniff once. Just to make sure that my voice when it comes out will be strong and sure. Then I clear my throat and cough. I pick up the phone and a voice full of pain and sorrow says from behind me, ‘Don’t call her, my darling.’
I turn toward the voice. My mouth parts in a soundless cry. My nose is so blocked from crying I can’t breathe through it anymore. I gaze at him sadly. The truth is he is my life, and fresh tears start pouring from my eyes.
‘For Sorab,’ I sob.
‘Not even for Sorab.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I will not give you up for anything.’
‘He is our baby. He is innocent. He is depending on us to protect him,’ I whisper.
‘He is my son. I will give up my life for h
im, but I will not give you up and live with her for him.’
I close my eyes. If only this was all a nightmare that I could wake up from.
‘Understand this, Lana. You are mine. You belong to me. Because you are young and you have never had others, you are like a child who has been given a priceless antique. You know not the price so you are willing to do the exchange. I will die before I let you make such an exchange.’
‘For Sorab,’ I plead.
‘You still don’t understand, do you? You can go on without me for Sorab’s sake, but I cannot. Without you nothing makes sense. Everything is meaningless.’
I stare at him blankly. I know his words carry meaning, important meaning, but they wash over me. I made that boy in my body. God gave him to me to introduce to this world. He deserves my loyalty. Until he can fend for himself I am his mother. I will fight his corner to the end.
Blake walks towards me and stands directly in front of me. ‘I know you want me to say otherwise, but I can only tell you what is in my heart. I love Sorab, but I love you more. When Sorab wants to go to summer camp, I will allow it, then I will watch with pride when he goes off to university and moves out, but you—I will not allow myself to be parted from you for one day.’
‘I don’t want to be parted from you either.’
‘Besides there is far, far more at stake than you understand.’
I know instinctively that he is right. I know nothing about these people, their cold and brutal ways. Slowly, I replace the receiver on its hook.
‘You don’t understand her. Maybe I don’t understand her either, but I still want you to trust me that I understand her better than you. I want you to know I would die for my son. There is no greater commitment than that. I will get him back.’
‘If you don’t?’
‘That is defeatist thinking. Don’t defeat me, Lana. You are the only one who can.’
I run into his arms. ‘Just bring my son back to me.’
He pries the card from my hand, not realizing I have memorized its contents.
‘Promise me only one thing.’
‘What?’
‘Never contact her. She will destroy you and Sorab.’
I nod.
‘There is something important you must know. While you are safe he is safe.’
I nod again. I am so frightened, I am glad he is taking over. My plan was no plan at all. It was to beg pity from the criminally insane. Stupid strategy.
He looks at his watch. ‘I want you to eat.’
I start shaking my head.
‘You have to be strong for Sorab.’
I cover my face. ‘I can’t eat.’
He nods. ‘Then you will watch me eat.’
He puts his hands around my waist and we walk together to the kitchen. He moves toward the refrigerator. And it occurs to me that I know exactly how I can be of use. I can keep him strong.
‘I’ll do it,’ I say, and I open the fridge door and rummage around. The chef has left some lamb chops wrapped in cling film.
‘Would you like me to make you a meal, madam?’ Rita, my housekeeper, asks from the doorway. She has curly hair and wears glasses. Usually she spends her nights at her daughter’s house in Surrey. She must be staying over because of the situation with Sorab.
‘Thank you, Rita, but I can manage.’
‘It’s no problem.’
‘No, I’d like to keep busy.’
She nods and disappears.
I find some broccoli and carrots to go with the chops. There is also mint sauce and some parsnip mash in a covered dish. Blake sits on an island stool while I prepare his meal for him. We do not speak.
He stares at me while I move around, but I know he is not really watching me. He is laying his plans. Once he expels his breath and says, ‘OK, OK.’
I say nothing. I know he is not talking to me.
Quietly, I work. It is therapeutic. When I put his food in front of him, he picks up his knife and fork and eats automatically. There is no enjoyment or sign that he is even tasting the food. Once or twice, he frowns. Halfway through his meal he stops eating, looks at me, smiles faintly and says, ‘Sometime ago I had my soul put in a box and delivered to you.’
I sit with my hands clasped on the counter.
At the end of it all, he gazes down as if perplexed at his empty plate. ‘Will you be all right if I leave you alone for a couple of hours?’
I nod.
Sixteen
I wake up suddenly from a restless sleep full of strange dreams and there is no moment of forgetfulness or mercy. Of slowly facing up to the day. The knowledge is instant and burning: my greatest enemy has my son. I close my eyes and wish again for sleep. But sleep does not come.
Instead I am filled with the terrible pain of knowing she has him. That we won’t be able to simply buy our way out of this nightmare. Whether he lives or dies lies at the whim of a mad, vindictive woman. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. Stare with bewilderment at my darkness. I am so lost and frustrated I want to scream, but I can’t.
I honestly feel as if I am losing it, going insane.
If only I had not gone to the theater. If only I had not asked Blake for more protection. If only he had not hired more men. If only I had just trusted Brian and let things be.
My head starts to ache.
Blake’s hand is heavy on my stomach. Carefully I move out from under the weight. Quietly, I fumble around, locate my alarm clock and depress the light button. Two a.m.
I sit up and press my throbbing temples. God, how I long for just one minute of forgetfulness from this insistent guilt and pain. Silently, I leave the bed and go toward Sorab’s room. For a long while I simply stand at the entrance looking at the empty cot. My heart is very loud in my chest. Ever since Sorab was taken I haven’t dared go into the nursery. I am almost afraid of it. I press my lips together and cast my eyes along the painted walls of fluffy clouds and stars.
My gaze grazes his toys. The sight of them hurts my eyes. I cover my mouth with my hand and move my eyes away quickly to the rack of CDs. There with all his nursery rhymes is Mozart. I bought Mozart for him because I read somewhere that listening to Mozart makes an infant more intelligent. The stupid things I concentrated on. A sob rises in my throat.
Be brave, be brave, I tell myself, and close my eyes. But immediately memories start crowding into my head.
I see it again as clear as day—sitting at the table with Billie in our little kitchen. That time when I had gone to the bank to get a loan and Blake had been waiting for me. I remember that wooden table. She warned me. But I didn’t listen. I was so in love, so crazy for any crumbs from Blake’s table that I was blind to the danger. I traced the scratches on the table and naïvely told Billie nothing bad was going to happen. That even though I had taken the woman’s money and her man she would not retaliate. Of course she was not going to go quietly.
I’ve been so silly, so stupid.
So unbelievably naïve.
I shake my head to dislodge the guilt, and dig deeper into myself. Courage, Lana, courage. I am determined to be brave. So I made mistakes. I will confront my demons. I will get my son back. Come back. Come back to me. I don’t care what I have to sacrifice to get you back. An ugly, unwanted thought intrudes. What if it is Blake? What if it is Blake that you have to give up?
Are you prepared for that?
I walk up to the cot, shivering with the endless chill in my bones, and Sleepy Teddy’s glassy eyes watch me. In the darkness he seems sinister. It is my imagination. Obviously, he is not sinister. Sorab loves him. I pick the toy up and cuddle it, and suddenly, I am enveloped by the smell of my son. It is so strong it is as if he is in my arms. A sharp pain pierces my chest and I almost cry out then. The pain is so great I drop Sleepy Teddy, and, turning around, blindly run from Sorab’s nursery.
My feet are soundless on the carpet. My throat stings with unshed tears. I want to scream and howl. It will be some kind of a release, but how can I? At this t
ime of the night? I wish I could drive out to some lonely location and scream and scream and scream. But the moment I leave the front door, Brian or one of the men will start trailing me.
I pause at the entrance to our bedroom and stand gazing at Blake. He looks very pale sleeping among shadows. I feel as if I have lost everything. I am so incredibly scared. I need to hear him call out my name in that snarling voice again. Without thinking I drift, like a flower crowned Ophelia, toward him, toward the warmth of his body. At the edge of the bed I look down on him, my eyes exploring the tousled hair, relaxed muscles, the smooth and gleaming skin. He is so incredibly sexy. But I’m not wet with desire. I want to be wet with desire again.
Carefully, I lift the duvet and crawl onto the bed next to the magnificent body. His scent is sun ripened and heady. I take his soft penis into my mouth. Slowly, gently, I suck it. He tastes delicious.
The juices begin to gather between my legs.
He moans in his sleep, his throat moves, and I increase the pressure of my mouth. The shaft grows thicker and bigger. Blake’s hands come up to hold my shoulders. I don’t look up. I just keep on sucking. His hands grip harder. Suddenly they are under my armpits, and pulling me up, and over his body.
‘Let me finish,’ I say, but already I am straddling his hips.
I move my body encouragingly, and my sex, wet and willing, rubs against the short silky hairs on his thighs. He lifts me up silently and holds my body over the head of his cock. I hold onto the shaft and position it over the core of my heat. Slowly, my sex is stretched and fitted around that aroused throbbing shaft. He spreads my thighs even farther and flattens them against his hips. The action makes my clit touch bone. He grinds that bone against me. Then tension transfers to my belly, my thighs, my sex. My nerves overload, and soon I am lost in a red mist of forgetfulness. It explodes in my brain.
He holds me by the waist and rolls me under him. I close my eyes and let my body be a vessel for his satisfaction. For a while I am simply a body, a body that is being fucked by another body. I am nothing but a biological reaction. When I feel the first drop of water on my cheek, I think it is Blake’s sweat, but when the next drop splashes onto my forehead, I know. They are tears. And then it is impossible for me to even be a biological reaction. He feels the change in me, and stops moving.
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