Since You've Been Gone

by Anouska Knight

  “Hol?”

  “Huh?”

  “Beat a path,” Jess said, nodding across the crowd.

  Nat’s red hair was like a beacon against the muted tones of her dress. She was smiling and beckoning us her way, a distance I hadn’t had to walk in one burst yet. The cool metal of the trolley handle felt reassuring in my hand as I politely asked body after body to let us through. Exclamations of ooh and ahh bobbed over each of my shoulders as Jesse’s centrepiece basked in the glory it was so deserving of. He had nailed the design. Most of the people here were dressed as refined Hollywood icons, not garish comic book characters. At least one Ghostbuster had crossed our path, the Terminator was waiting patiently at the bar, but mostly we were in a room of Godfathers and Dirty Harrys.

  Nat’s hair helped me to keep her picked out from the crowd as I led Jesse awkwardly between gently aglow booths, and the vast expanse of glass separating the lounge from the terrace outside.

  Nat stood in front of a feature wall, a mosaic of giant metallic plates showing every depiction of gold, looming behind her petite frame.

  Light dappled over all that shiny loveliness and I turned to see just as Jess did the same.

  “Holy shit!” he exclaimed, gawping through the glass curtain.

  “It’s something, isn’t it?” Nat asked, admiring the pool, too. “We’re going to set the cake up through here, where it won’t be knocked over.”

  I looked at her, just long enough to be polite, before turning back to the terrace.

  “If you want to take a dip later, there’s complimentary swimwear in the spa over there.” Nat pointed to the far end of the water, where the pool ran underneath a pillared canopy. There were people in evening wear and bikinis peppered all around the timber decking of the poolside, sitting casually in clean-lined furniture and conversation.

  I didn’t realise the city had places like this.

  “Do you like to swim?” Nat asked, humouring us.

  Some guy in a Speedo was just walking out through the doors of the building Nat had said was the spa. Jess and I both watched him step down into the lit waters.

  “Hell, yeah,” he said. I just hoped he’d keep his clothes on until we’d met with Aleta.

  “Lead the way, Nat,” I called, trying to rein in my awe.

  At the end of the metallic wall, black carpet ran away to a dozen or so vertical glasslike panels breaking up the space, designating the area beyond them. The panels towered over us like monoliths some twenty feet high, highly polished stone in golds and bronzes and fusions of the two. I had a tiger’s eye bracelet they reminded me of.

  Nat slipped between two of the panels and led us into the buffet area. At its centre a large pedestal waited for Jesse’s triumph.

  “Once you’ve got it in situ, the kitchen staff will complete the buffet display around the foot of the cake,” Nat told us, checking her watch.

  “There’s more food?” I asked, trying to take in the abundance of edible delights on offer around two-thirds of the room’s perimeter.

  “The birthday boy’s a very popular man.” She smiled, still checking her watch. I knew that already. Argyll had paid a small fortune for his friend’s cake. “So you guys are going to hang out, right? Once you’re done here?” she asked.

  Jesse grinned. “Yeah, man. We’re going to hang out, and dance and have a blast, aren’t we, Hol?”

  “Well, Aleta doesn’t usually turn up on time, but they won’t do the happy-birthday thing until later, so the cake will still be in one piece when she gets here. I hope.”

  Jesse carefully lifted the cake from the trolley and positioned it at the centre of the pedestal. Even through his jacket, his back felt warm under my hand. The cake had been heavy, even for him. “Good job, Jess,” I whispered.

  * * *

  We left Nat in the buffet to discover the bar now packed with beautiful people. “An orange juice and a... Jess?” Jess’s eyes were gathering intel. I knew who he was looking for.

  “The champers looks a popular choice. I’ll have two,” he said, still casing the joint.

  The bartender was leaning forward through the thick sounds of music and conversation, explaining to me that all drinks tonight were on the house. That was a relief, with Jess ordering two at a time. I held the two elegant glasses out for him. He took both, then passed one back.

  “They’re not both for me,” he said, taking a sip.

  “Jess, I’m driving,” I said, holding the glass forward again.

  “You can have one, Hol. It’ll loosen you up a little. You won’t be driving for at least an hour anyway.”

  I guess he was right.

  Over the rim of my glass, the only Monroe I’d seen yet was watching a band of gentlemen greeting and slapping each other the way men sometimes do. It would seem the ice maiden was never very far from an Argyll, although I hadn’t heard Fergal in here yet. Perhaps she knew the birthday boy, too, but something about the way she was watching Ciaran, as he laughed with the others, told me why she was here.

  “I didn’t think he’d go for the fancy dress,” Jess said over my shoulder.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You know who I’m talking about. Moneybags. He’s in a suit.”

  I looked away disinterestedly to the pockets of people hiding in the shadows of booths behind the dance area.

  “Do you wanna dance?” Jesse asked.

  “No, thanks! You go ahead, though. I’m going to go check the cake.”

  “The cake’s fine, Hol. Relax.”

  “Technically we’re working, Jess. I prefer it up that end anyway. More places to sit in these shoes!”

  I took Jesse’s glass from him and watched him cut through the people hanging around the periphery of the dance floor, not yet drunk enough to join the braver few. The baseline changed and Jess found himself. The women there were pleased to have him, the men less so. He moved like water around them, graceful as a shark and just as deadly. No wonder he was so popular with the ladies. I’d have fancied him right then and there if it wouldn’t have felt so icky. I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t take their eyes off him. He was already drawing a crowd.

  Before he did anything rash, like pull me on there with him, I turned to make my way back towards the buffet lounge.

  Someone was blocking my escape.

  “Nice shoes,” he said, his hands in his pockets.

  The champagne was warming my cheeks, or it might have been the embarrassment of being caught wearing someone else’s footwear.

  “Nice cummerbund,” I replied, trying to put something, anything, back at him.

  “Thanks,” he said, a boyish smile reaching to eyes that were anything but. “I was lost for inspiration until you put me on track.” I didn’t follow. He opened his jacket, showing off the cummerbund in all its glory, and an aqua-blue water pistol poking from the top. Still, I was none the wiser.

  “What, only Jesse’s into Bond? That’s too bad.” He smiled.

  How long was I going to have to suffer that one? Jess had started it. I could kill him. I glanced round, hoping to see an outdanced boyfriend doing it for me.

  “He’s a multi-talented man,” Ciaran said, watching him, too.

  I took the champagne flute he offered me, grappling with the awkwardness I always felt around him.

  “About last weekend...” I tried, searching for the most efficient way to thank him for his obvious attempts to help Cake along.

  “Have you cut yourself?” he interrupted, his fingers slipping between my glass and my hand. The move was so subtle, so unexpected. Lightly, his thumb ran over my knuckles. His hands were too soft, so unlike Charlie’s. I felt myself stiffen.

  Gently, he raised my hand to investigate the poppy red of my fingertips, clasped around the drink bubblin
g in my hand.

  “Oh, no. That’s just, er, food colouring,” I stammered, nimbly pulling my hand away.

  His eyes narrowed. “Did you get food colouring here, too?” he asked, softly stroking his thumb over my neck. A shock of adrenaline rushed through my body, the heat under my skin blooming in response to his touch. He smiled shrewdly. “Now that I think of it, I’ve seen you blush that way before.”

  Ciaran watched me as he sipped from his glass. I mimicked him, only gulping the lot down. Talk about work, talk about work.

  “Are you pleased with your friend’s cake?” I babbled, the fizz in my nose.

  “Well, actually, I was hoping you could talk me through it,” he said.

  “It’s all Jess’s work. You should go speak to him.” There, that was better.

  Ciaran looked over my shoulder to the dance floor behind me.

  “I don’t want to disturb him. Would you take me to look at it? I haven’t seen it yet.”

  Ciaran’s arm waited for mine.

  Tentatively, I slipped my arm through his and saw something in his eyes grow warmer.

  * * *

  It was both easier and harder, I found, to move through the guests when on Ciaran’s arm. I hated that expression, but it was exactly where I was.

  “Happy birthday, Ciaran,” cooed one woman over her partner’s shoulder.

  “Happy thirtieth, mate!” said an already merry chap in a blue tux and wig.

  “Nice party, Argyll—” came the cool tone of a voice noticeably more relaxed than Mr Blue Tux “—but you need more women.”

  Ciaran stopped pressing forward while a thirty-something with dark waves to his ears reached to shake his hand. Automatically, my hand began to slip from its cradle, allowing him the room he needed.

  Ciaran’s hand chased mine down to my side. Gently, secretly, he held mine in his for a moment, and then just like that, it was gone again.

  “Ludlow. How’s things?” Ciaran asked.

  “Better than they are in your camp,” Ludlow sneered. “I hear Fergal’s about to lose another bid to Sawyers?”

  “We’re not losing anything to anyone,” Ciaran said, a coolness to his voice.

  “So Fergal’s behaving himself, then? It’s a shame he hasn’t kissed and made up with James Sawyer,” Ludlow persisted.

  “There’ll be no kissing there,” Ciaran replied, coolness giving way to nonchalance.

  “Ah, don’t worry about it, pal. You’ll get over it. Eventually.” And Ludlow burst into a deep throaty laugh. “By the looks of it, you’re doing your best, as usual.” He sniggered, turning grey eyes on me. Ludlow was a handsome man, but something in the way he laughed made him less so. “So who’s your plus one?” he asked.

  Plus one? I ignored the question, but Ciaran humoured him.

  “Holly, Freddy Ludlow. Holly’s done some work for me. Holly, I believe you’ve already met Freddy’s mother.”

  “Really?” Ludlow grinned. “Poor you. So you work for Argyll here? I’ll bet he’s had you doing all sorts for him.” He leered.

  My hand was ambushed again and I watched as Ludlow raised it to receive his kiss. A waft of cigarettes and booze came back with it.

  Behind me, Ciaran’s hand laid itself gently at the small of my back.

  “Worked,” I corrected him. “As in the past tense, not the continuous.”

  Ludlow’s eyes momentarily widened, then he turned them back on Ciaran. “A bit feistier than your normal accessories, Argyll. You’ll have to watch that one.”

  Accessories? I wasn’t an accessory, and in case either one of them thought so, I left Ciaran’s side.

  “The cake’s in the far lounge, when you’re ready,” I said to him, walking a few steps ahead.

  “Enjoy yourself, Ludlow,” Ciaran said. “But not too much, eh?”

  I felt him close behind me as I moved more determinedly through the throngs of people. I half caught his responses to numerous sentiments of the well-wishers around him, but I wasn’t in a hurry to meet any more of them. For a short silly while, the spot next to him had been a warm sunny one. I shook the thought away.

  We’d nearly made it across the great expanse when a bustle of security caught both of our attention.

  A gaggle of women with legs up to their eyeballs stepped like gazelles from the burnished lift doors. All of them had the skin of women used to the kisses of a tropical sun, and the obvious poise of those plenty used to being admired. Ciaran hesitated behind me, taking in all that beauty. It was a fine display of high fashion and killer heels. Hell, I was dazzled by them. But there were more celebs in attendance tonight than Aleta.

  I’d recognised a few faces in the crowd, famous enough in their own right to not be affected by Ms Delgado’s entrance. Unperturbed, demure people, people not at all like Jesse, now stealthily shouldering his way to the lifts.

  It would be interesting to see how this played out. Ciaran was obviously going to rain-check the cake to welcome his guests. This was his party, after all. At least I’d be free to rugby-tackle Jesse when I needed to.

  “Ciaran? Aleta’s arrived.”

  Ciaran and I both snapped our heads around to the ice maiden. Of course he has to go, I said to myself.

  “Aleta’s fine. She’ll have plenty of people to keep her occupied while Holly shows me my cake.”

  The ice maiden shot me a scornful look. “You don’t even like cake, Ciaran. I really think you should—”

  “Penny, go get yourself a drink. I’ll be back in a while.”

  “Fine.” Her voice was sharp for an employee, too familiar with him. But Penny left us to continue to the buffet room.

  The tiger’s eye panels had been rotated, forming an uninterrupted partition now. Ciaran hit a button and, with a muffled thrum, the sections began to revolve.

  “Incredible,” he said softly, approaching the cake.

  I followed him into the room. “Jesse’s a talented guy. I’m lucky to have him.”

  Ciaran’s attention turned back to me, his eyes falling to my dress. Immediately I found a small sharp edge of a fingernail to bother at.

  “He’s a nice guy, too,” he said.

  Stop fidgeting.

  I breathed steady and smiled. “He is. The best.”

  “You must think so to bring him along tonight. You had two passes, right? I’d thought you might bring a partner.”

  I found another unevenness to my nail. Stop. Fidgeting. Talk shop.

  “We’re meeting with Miss Delgado this evening. She may have some work for us. I wanted to thank you actually, for telling the Cinder team about us. I appreciate it.”

  Ciaran looked at me thoughtfully. “So...I’m not making a mockery out of your business, then?” he said drily.

  A snatch of pain at the edge of my fingernail.

  “No,” I conceded, rolling my eyes. “But if I leave Jess alone much longer, he might.”

  Ciaran watched me as the room fell silent around us.

  Boy, it’s warm in here.

  “So, thirty?” I gulped, trying to keep cool.

  Ciaran moved around the desserts.

  How is the chocolate not melting?

  My chest started to rise and fall more than it should do. I held my breath to steady it. Ciaran said nothing, a wolf stalking towards a doe.

  My eyes plummeted to the floor. “Why didn’t you say it was your party?” I asked in a small voice, watching his shiny old-fashioned dress shoes close in on me. They halted a few inches from where my toes peeped back at them through patent Diors. The shininess of our footwear made for a his-and-hers effect. It was almost funny.

  “Because I wasn’t sure that you’d come,” he whispered, leaning in close, too close.

  The shiny blackness fell away, le
aving brown the dominant colour. An endless umber I didn’t know I liked.

  “Ciaran. We have a situation in the bar.” The ice maiden’s brusqueness pulled me back to where I stood, the butterflies dissipating from my chest. She glared at me while Ciaran moved closer to her. I tried to push away the mental image of Jesse body-popping all over Aleta Delgado, and cringed at what was coming next.

  “What situation?” Ciaran asked.

  Here it comes...

  “The Freddy situation, Ciaran. You need to get him out of here. He’s already offended Dickie’s wife and security don’t know what you want to do with him.”

  Ciaran turned serious eyes back towards me, his brow furrowed with thought. He looked predatory when he concentrated, and I felt like the doe again.

  “I’ll find you again, if that’s all right?” he asked, forcing his eyes to soften. I didn’t risk a reply but played it safe with an almost indecipherable nod.

  I watched his shiny shoes disappear through the partition, leaving me alone—with the snow queen. She sauntered over to where I was still pulling myself together, and ran a long nail the colour of new blood over the contours of Jess’s cake. I could try for small talk, but I didn’t think she’d reciprocate the effort.

  “I love your shoes,” she purred, “but they’re less shapely than I thought.”

  It occurred to me then whose feet the Diors had been destined for. For the barest second, I nearly let her intimidate me, but I’d met women like her before and I was not my mother. This bombshell had nothing I’d want for myself.

  “And they’re better suited to platinum.”

  “Sorry?” I asked.

  “Oh, don’t be.” She smiled sweetly. “Dirty blonde can be a good look. Sometimes. Best kept to beach shoes, though, not Diors.” She laughed.

  Dirty blonde. It was a new slight, and almost, almost enough.

  “Well, you’ll have to excuse me, Marilyn. Your shoes are starting to pinch.” I started for the gaps between the panels, pleading that now was not the time I stumbled. Anytime but now.