Love's Sacrifice

by Georgia Le Carre

  ‘I wasn’t ever in danger.’ Her voice is sepulchral.

  ‘You don’t know what she is capable of.’

  She starts suddenly, her body tense. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that.

  ‘What is she capable of?’ she asks, hoarse with fear.

  ‘She won’t hurt Sorab. He is her bargaining chip.’

  She sags with relief. She’s falling apart in front of me and there isn’t a thing I can do about it. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were going?’

  ‘Because you would have said no.’

  ‘Damn right I wouldn’t have let you go.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I screwed up.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry. You didn’t screw up. Tell me everything she said and did. It could be important.’

  So we sit beside each other and she tells me everything calmly and clearly while I listen intently. When she is finished I am so furious I want to kill that mad bitch. I try my best not to show the fury.

  She searches my face. ‘You were right. I shouldn’t have gone. Or at least I should have had a plan. I’m afraid all I’ve succeeded in doing is saying all the wrong things and cementing her hatred.’

  I totally agree. I wish she hadn’t gone, but I try to sound warm and reassuring. ‘It doesn’t matter. Nothing you have said or done has changed the outcome one bit. She has a plan. Humiliating you was only one small aspect.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘She wants to see me tomorrow at ten a.m.’

  Her eyes become enormous. ‘When did she contact you?’

  ‘She called right after you left her. So you see it was all planned. First humiliate you and then call me to the negotiating table.’

  ‘What does she want? You?’

  I curl my arm around her possessively. ‘No. Not me. That would be too easy. She knows I don’t give a damn about her. She wants revenge. I just don’t know what that entails. Yet.’

  Twenty

  Blake Law Barrington

  I walk into the red brick building and suddenly I am in a different world. I pause for a moment at the entrance. The air is cool and filled with an air of slow dreaminess, as if this place is a retreat from the dangerously busy world outside. The air of lethargy pervades the staff. They talk to me slowly and clearly—all their movements are calm and deliberate.

  One of the reception staff shows me into a private room. There is a window with floral curtains, and a few low, blue-gray padded seats. A plastic coffee table with a few outdated, well-thumbed magazines.

  ‘Someone will bring her down shortly,’ she says quietly, and closes the door quietly. I walk to the window and look out. My mind is reeling. I realize I am nervous. So much is at stake. I think of how fragile Lana looked this morning when I touched her cheekbone. ‘Don’t think about me,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘Only him.’

  ‘Hello, Blake.’

  I whirl around. I was so lost in my own thoughts I did not hear her enter. For a moment I am surprised. My last memory of her is of her being held by Brian and another man while she clawed and screamed bloody murder. Now she stands before me, calm and present in a way I had not imagined. I had expected wild-eyed passion, a burning desire for revenge. Not this angel of mercy act.

  ‘Hello, Victoria.’

  She comes farther into the room and takes a seat. She is wearing a dress, blue with polka dots. It doesn’t suit her. The dress rides up her thighs and she pulls it down demurely. She does not cross her legs, but sits with her knees close together. I’ll admit she has me confused.

  She looks up at me. There is amusement in her eyes. My God, she has taken the upper hand. I am filled with the ugly sensation that I am about to get my first lesson on how wrong I have been about Victoria. I walk to the seat next to hers. She watches me carefully. I spread myself out, lean back, rest my hands on my thighs, and fix her with an even look. I don’t know if she buys my relaxed pose. I am not relaxed. I am so furious I want to punch her smiling face.

  ‘How is my son?’

  ‘Living in the lap of luxury.’

  ‘If you hurt a single hair on his head you’ll live to regret it.’

  She crosses her legs high on her thigh, so smoothly and foxily, it takes me off guard—I don’t let my eyes follow the movement, it simply registers in my vision—and smiles at me.

  ‘I wouldn’t take such an aggressive tone if I were you.’

  ‘Why did you kidnap him?’

  ‘Why did you have me locked up here?’

  ‘Because you crashed my wedding and tried to slash my bride?’

  ‘You’ve oversold the story.’

  ‘Correct me then.’

  ‘I avenged a wrong that was done to me. She stole my man and my money,’ she states simply.

  I feel myself flush. Shit. When I found out I should have returned her money. Such a paltry sum. ‘She did not steal me away from you—’

  ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire.’

  I stare at her. ‘Ours was an arrangement.’

  ‘You cheated me.’

  ‘I did not know how you felt.’

  ‘And if you had?’

  I shift uncomfortably.

  ‘It would not have mattered, would it? Just like it would not have mattered to you what I felt if you had fallen desperately in love with someone else.’

  ‘I was desperately in love. With you.’

  ‘Look, Victoria. That is the past. I want my son back.’

  ‘And I want you back.’

  I cannot stop the horror her words provoke from showing in my face.

  She laughs, a cat with a mouse. ‘That’s not very nice.’

  ‘What do you really want, Victoria?’

  ‘I want out of here and I want you stripped of your Barrington seat of power.’

  I frown. ‘Stripped of the seat of power? Why?’

  ‘Because you’re not a Barrington.’

  My blood runs cold and sluggish in my veins. I think of a snake. Winding. Untrustworthy. Feed it for a lifetime, then turn your back on it and it will bite you. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Ask your mother. She’ll tell you.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I have my ways. I knew many years ago, but I didn’t care. I wanted you even if you were not a Barrington.’

  I couldn’t give a shit about what she thought of my lineage. I had only one objective in mind. ‘If I agree to both your conditions will you return my son?’

  ‘Of course. I have no use for the brat.’

  I experience a flash of anger. Bitch. Can’t let my anger make me careless. I flex my tense shoulders. My voice is calm. ‘How do we do this?’

  She reaches forward suddenly, swift as a snake, fixes her eyes on me, and lightly strokes my knuckles. It is like a lover’s sweet touch. I freeze: the revulsion is incredible. I fight down centuries worth of instinct. The kind that saved prehistoric man from becoming the saber-toothed tiger’s lunch. I stare into her eyes. She smiles sensuously. Seems almost drunk with the power she has over me.

  ‘I want your fall from grace to be public. I want you to give up every claim you have on the Barrington wealth. And then I want you to come here and sign me out.’

  ‘Why? What benefit to you?’

  She shrugs. ‘Satisfaction.’

  ‘Done.’

  She frowns. ‘Did you understand what I said? You will retain neither the name nor the wealth of the Barrington family.’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  Twisted anger flashes in her eyes. Did she actually imagine I would sacrifice my son to keep the Barrington name?

  ‘You’d do that for her and that…little, common spawn of hers?’ she lashes out with frustration.

  ‘That little, common spawn is my son.’

  She leans back and with pretended casualness looks at her nails. ‘How wrong I was about you. I thought even though you weren’t a real Barrington you were better than an ordinary commoner.’ She fixes me with her eyes. ‘But you’re not. You are just like them
. And you proved it by falling in love with the lowest scrounger of them all. You only know to put your own selfish lust ahead of truly important things.’

  I stand and look down on her, an empty shell animated by hatred and intense jealously. ‘I’ll come by when everything is done.’

  ‘And oh! For dinner tonight I’d like black cod with a medley of Oriental vegetables. All steaming hot and prepared by a Michelin starred restaurant.’

  I look at her evenly. ‘Would you like wine with it?’

  She smiles. ‘Yes, and I’d like a gourmet dinner delivered to me for the rest of my stay here.’

  ‘I’ll get Laura to arrange it.’

  ‘Goodbye, Blake.’

  I ring the bell to call the nurse and turn to look at her. ‘If you renege on your word, I swear I will tear you apart limb from limb with my bare hands and a blunt knife.’

  She laughs, an insolent, taunting laugh.

  The nurse comes and I leave her poisonous presence with relief.

  Twenty-One

  Victoria Jane Montgomery

  I watch him leave and feel a tingle of power sizzle right through me. His cheeks had colored. He had blushed. For the first time since I have known him I made the great Blake Law Barrington flush with shame.

  I hold the power now.

  I lean back. I know the drill—wait here until a nurse comes to fetch me back to my room. The door opens, and someone comes in, but it is not a nurse. A small, deathly pale man dressed entirely in black enters. His shoes are polished to a high shine. I stare at him with surprise.

  For a moment my body freezes in fear. I swallow down that spike of fear, that unreasonable dread that he seems more a corpse that some mad doctor decided to animate so he may still walk the earth than an actual living, breathing human being. Revulsion and horror crawl in my blood. It is impossible to properly describe his bizarre appearance. His nose is sharp and narrow and his mouth is thin and downward turning, but it is his eyes that are the most sinister. They are red-rimmed and the irises black, shiny, empty.

  As soon as those eyes connect with mine I feel a dark chill go through me. I have seen eyes like that before… I have never seen him in my life before, but I recognize him.

  Unsteadily I stand and curtsy on one knee. It is not necessary, but I do it to ingratiate myself. I need allies. And allies like him are powerful, they are El sent.

  ‘Lady Victoria.’

  ‘At your service.’

  He smiles cordially and as he comes closer to me, I start to feel almost faint. The malevolence of his presence is so palpable that my body instinctively recoils. Unable to stop myself I take a step back and to cover my reaction I pretend that I am heading for a seat and collapse on it. Not as elegantly as I would have liked. Then I busy myself with crossing my legs and arranging my skirt around me as I compose my face into lines of submissive helpfulness.

  I am frightened of him. Then I remember the phoenix. Why should I fear? I am divinely guided. I am doing El’s work. I have nothing to fear and yet my mouth feels like it is full of soot. I swallow the blackness and lick my lips.

  ‘May I?’ he drawls. He knows the effect he has on me…and secretly relishes my distress.

  ‘Of course. Please.’

  He sits. The movement is so deliberate and theatrical it is almost gay. But he is not. His tastes are eclectic. I know that without knowing him. He is a sadist. One look in his eyes and I see it.

  ‘Do they treat you well here?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘That pleases me. I asked for…helpful assistants.’

  ‘Yes, they have all been very helpful.’

  He nods. ‘It won’t be long before you are out.’

  I don’t say anything. I am suddenly afraid. I am wondering why he is here. He is not an ally of mine. He is here for a different reason.

  ‘Who are you?’ I splutter.

  ‘We are descended from the light, the fallen light. Ah, but in fact, you are actually wondering why I am here.’

  ‘It did cross my mind.’

  ‘It is important to us that you have your satisfaction. Blake should pay for…cheating you. We like your little plan to dethrone him. He is not a Barrington and he should not masquerade as one, but we ask that Blake and his family come to no harm.’

  I feel confused. I wanted to offer Blake as a sacrifice to the phoenix. I wanted to watch his beautiful blue eyes fading, fading. Dead. Damned forever.

  He cuts into my thoughts. ‘Let us remain merciful.’

  ‘What makes you think I want to hurt him?’

  ‘Lady Victoria, you underestimate us. It is not an attractive quality. Do not repeat the mistake. You are categorically denied permission to harm Blake or his son. He will provide the tools of his own demise.’

  To cover my frustration I bow my head. ‘What do you seek?’

  ‘Power, obedience and access.’

  ‘You have all three with me.’

  His bloodless lips stretch in a parody of a smile. Cold is what cold-blooded does. ‘Good. What may seem to you like chaos is a carefully coordinated attack. The outcome will follow the design no matter what you do.’ He looks to the window, beyond our conversation, to the overcast sky.

  I frown with confusion. The brotherhood is rigorously selective. Blake is not a bloodline. ‘What do you want with a bastard and his little mongrel offspring?’

  ‘Unlikely alliances can sometimes be the most productive,’ he says cryptically.

  The door opens and a nurse comes in bearing a glass of water on a tray. I look up at her almost gratefully. Just having another person in the room even for a few seconds allows me to compose myself a little.

  ‘Here you go,’ she says, and places the glass on the low table.

  ‘Thank you,’ he says quietly.

  She walks out of the door and it closes after her. I watch him pick up the glass, raise it to his pale lips and take a sip. I watch the movement his thin throat makes. My eyes are drawn to his Adam’s apple. The skin there is so white and stretched so tight it almost glows.

  My thoughts whirl in circles. Sucking at me. What the hell? Must I stand by and watch Blake and his harlot prosper…again? I shake my head. Something is not right.

  ‘Why? Why do you care so much about a non-bloodline?’

  And suddenly his eyes—there is no other way to put it—become alive, as if he was a shell and someone or something had suddenly come into his empty body and animated it. I feel inexplicably exposed and observed, not by passive eyes but by penetrating ones. Eyes that know me. Eyes that are familiar. My hand comes up to my throat. Those cruel lips hardly move, but what comes out of them turns my whole world upside down.

  Twenty-Two

  Blake Law Barrington

  So it was all a lie. I am not a Barrington. Not a bloodline. Not precious. Not better than all the rest of humanity. It should have been a terrible blow. I should have been numb with shock, or in a rage. My whole life a lie! It’s a strange thing but walking away from Victoria, I feel oddly light and relieved.

  Finally, it all makes sense.

  My father’s sweaty male skin pressed against my half bare back.

  Because he was not my father. The vein of cruelty was not normal. He was my keeper. When I examine it deeper it is not relief, but a kind of dangerous excitement. As if a door that I thought would never open for me has suddenly opened. A new life stretches out for me. Within my grasp. I only have to play my cards right.

  But I don’t trust her. I believe she will not be satisfied with such a weak revenge. She’ll want blood. It is our way. Blood to feed the gods. Probably mine. She knows she won’t get away with spilling any of Sorab’s. Her plans must include my death. What a pleasure to turn Lana into a widow.

  The first person I call is my lawyer.

  ‘Jay, get back to me on the fastest, most efficient way for me to cut all financial ties with the Barrington wealth.’

  There is a moment of shocked silence.

  ‘Um�
�� I didn’t quite get that. Can you explain in more detail what you mean?’

  ‘Let’s say my brother discovers that I am not a Barrington—what paperwork would he draw up to cut me out of the fortune?’

  ‘Right… Uh…I’ll…um…have to get back to you on that.’

  ‘Call me as soon as you know.’

  ‘Right, yes, yes I will.’

  I call my secretary and tell her to make arrangements for me to fly to New York that day. Then I call my brother.

  ‘Marcus. I need to speak to you. I’ll be there in about ten hours. Can you clear your diary for me?’

  ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘Not really. But I’ll tell you everything when I see you.’

  After that I call Billie to ask her if she will come and stay with Lana that night. She sounds out of breath, as if she has been running up a flight of steps or having wild sex, but she not only took my call, she also agrees immediately. With that sorted, I dial my mother’s number.

  Nine and a half hours later I am sitting in my brother’s mistress’s flat. Nadia is out, and he was close by. I lower myself into a brand new white sofa and look around curiously. It is an odd place. In fact, I think it is the most unlived-in place I have ever been in throughout my life. There is not a spot of dirt, anywhere. It is just white—cold and soulless.

  ‘Like a drink?’ he asks.

  ‘What’ve you got?’

  He holds up a green bottle that he bought at an auction in Bonhams, London. A Special Liqueur Whiskey, from the Glenavon Distillery in Ballindalloch, Scotland. The distillery ceased production in the 1950s. He pours us two glasses of pale gold liquid, and crosses the extraordinarily white carpet to hold a glass out to me. I thank him and take a sip. The two-hundred-and-sixty-year-old smoky liquid slides down my throat tasting of copper pot stills, oak barrels, peat moss, and its own smooth patina. All the people who made it are dead. I only feel the bite when it splashes into my empty stomach and burns.

  Marcus drops into a pristine sofa opposite me. ‘So what’s going on?’ So close to me his voice echoes in the disconcertingly empty place.