by JG Alva
Sutton picked up the thread from Angela.
“Which is what will happen, if you’re not careful. Lucky for us, I know the man that Daniel has been using to talk to the consortium. He told me what’s really happening, and that’s given you a chance. I asked if he could contact the consortium to deal with you direct.”
“What about Daniel?” Maggie asked.
“Oh, what about him,” Angela said. “He doesn’t care about you. Why should you care about him?”
Maggie thought about the situation for a moment, biting on a knuckle and staring at the carpet. He caught a look from Angela; Sutton was hard placed to say what it was, but perhaps it was familial frustration.
“Can I think about it?” Maggie asked.
Angela threw her hands up in despair.
Sutton said, “Maggie, you can do what you want. This is your business. You asked me to help with the problem, and I’ve looked at it, and this is what I’ve come up with. This is where my involvement ends. Your next step is entirely your decision.”
“I don’t want to give up my business to a bunch of strangers,” she said.
“Then don’t. Or if you do, negotiate a contract where you are still an active manager. Why would they turn that down? You’ve built this from nothing, they’d be a fool to ignore that. But what I’m trying to say is, there are options here. You’re no longer on the back foot. You’re attacking, not defending.”
She nodded, but said, “I still have to think about it.”
Angela stared at her mother with open dismay. Her mother was unaware of it, lost in some private battle. Sutton could understand it. Her business defined her, and to give it up was to give up part of her self-image.
“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” Sutton said. “In fact, it’s best that you don’t. Don’t even think about it at all. Put it to the back of your mind. Let it percolate.”
“How am I meant to do that?” Maggie asked.
Sutton held up a finger.
“With a distraction. Which I will supply. How about I take both you and Angela out to dinner? My treat, of course. Would that be distraction enough?”
Maggie seemed overcome, more than the offer warranted.
“Oh, Sutton, really?”
“Of course. Where would you like to go?”
Maggie and Angela looked at each other, and without saying a word, they seemed to come to a mutual decision.
Angela said, “we’ll let you decide.” And with a twinkle in her eye, she added, “it’s only fair, seeing as you offered to pay and everything.”
*
Sutton returned home, to shower and get ready for the evening.
He was shrugging himself into slacks and a shirt when he heard the landing alarm.
A long time ago, not long after he had moved in his Baltic Wharf Estate address, someone had come up the stairs and knocked on his door. Their intentions had been less than benevolent, and a grim hard-fought battle had ensued. The landing alarm was installed to prevent any such future surprises: a couple of sensors on the landing, with lights denoting different settings, all wired to a small speaker in the lounge. If, after the sounding of the alarm, there were ten seconds without a knock, then the visitor’s intentions were usually less than benign…as if they were debating on their violent course.
It was a rule that had yet to be broken.
He silently counted it off.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
A knock.
He went and looked through the peephole. Suzanne Rice stood outside of his door, looking nervous. Well, Sutton thought to himself. Life is just full of surprises.
“I was wondering if we could talk,” she said, without preamble, when he opened the door.
“Alright,” he said. “Come in.”
She moved quickly into the living room. She moved well. She was wearing grey linen trousers that flared out at the heel. They somehow corrected the flawed narrowness of the hips. She wore a white cotton blouse, stitched over itself at the collar like a scarf. She was an impressive looking woman, and she knew how to present herself.
He shut the door behind her. She was taking in the dimensions of his flat, and then she saw the view. It stopped her for a good ten seconds.
“Do you want something to drink?” He asked.
She looked at his face, and smiled briefly.
“Please,” she said, with something like relief. “Alcoholic, if you have it.”
“Bit early, isn’t it?”
“I know,” she said, “but...it would calm my nerves.”
There was half a bottle of red in the kitchen cupboard, and he poured her a glass from that. She thanked him, but still seemed on edge. He was struck by how tall she was. In her heels she was as tall as him.
He sat on the sofa and she sat on the sofa armchair and he made himself comfortable while she perched on the edge. He studied her. Her skin glowed. No make-up. Her cheekbones were striking, like a catalogue model. She was rudely healthy.
“You wanted to talk,” he said, when she hesitated.
She looked at her wine glass, which she spun idly between her fingers. Her expression was not happy.
“Yes,” she said. “You must think it’s odd – me showing up here like this – but it really isn’t.”
“How did you find out where I live?”
Her dark eyes were hooded.
“I know someone who can find out things like that.”
“I see.”
“I also know that you’re helping Maggie.”
Sutton kept his face poker-straight, but inside he was surprised. How did she know that?
Was someone at Green Light talking to her?
“Believe me, I’m on your side,” she said. “This whole business is just so…unpleasant.”
“Then speak to your fiancé. And stop it.”
She shook her head. She looked agitated.
“I told you, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
She held up her hand, as if to stop him…or as if to stop him from asking such a thing of her.
She lowered her hand, and looked down at her glass.
“I have some friends working for the council,” she said, avoiding his eye. “I got them to find out some things about you. Not just your address. Statistics. I’m sorry,” she added, with a furtive glance at him.
He nodded
“And what did they find out?”
She frowned down at her wine glass.
“That you’re an artist, sort of. That you’re self-employed, of a kind. You have investments, very wise investments, and that you live off of them. And that you’re not hurting for money. I’m sorry, I had to know. I had to know what your…angle was. When I saw you at the party…”
“What?”
“You don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. “This deal means everything to Daniel. Everything.”
She was quite an intelligent woman, this Suzanne Rice, Sutton was starting to realise. She had her resources. She was too pretty by far, and she was smart…and that made him uneasy.
And again he was struck by something in her face. Maybe it was the eyes, so small…or the almost masculine line of her jaw…
“What were you worried about?” He asked carefully.
She compressed her lips unhappily.
“I thought you might be trying to muscle in on the Green Light business.”
“I’m not.”
“I know that now,” she said, irate, but not with him; with herself.
“And you’re sure you weren’t worried about something else?”
She looked up sharply. Her eyes were a fantastic blue.
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” he said, and sat forward. “For one thing, I’m not sure that I understand why you came to see me. Why put yourself through all this humiliation unless you had to. Is
there another reason why you’re here?”
“No,” she said. Her eyes were distant, but anxious. “No other reason.”
He watched her and watched her until she came back to herself, and then her face crumpled. She forced herself back angrily in the chair and covered her face. Her shoulders were trembling.
“What is it?” He asked, coming forward. “What’s the matter?”
“Daniel,” she said into her hand. She took a breath. “It’s Daniel.”
“What about him?”
Still she hid her face from him. But he could see the tendons standing out in her neck.
“It’s this deal…he’s become another person. I don’t know what to do. The other day he was in a rage…I’ve never seen him like that. He stormed through the house like a...like a madman, knocking over lamps and tables and chairs. I thought I was next, I really did. He was so mad.” Her hands dropped away from her face. Her eyes were red. They fixed on him. “That’s how I live now. Every day. Just waiting. Waiting for him to turn on me. Waiting for him to stick a knife in my back like –“
She stopped, and looked at his face in alarm.
“Forget it,” she said, putting the wine glass on the coffee table and standing up.
Sutton stood also.
“What is it?”
“It’s nothing,” she said miserably. “I don’t know why I came.”
“Is it Daniel? Are you…scared of him?”
She stopped, stood motionless for a moment, as if all life and energy had suddenly left her.
Then she came back to herself, and turned those startling eyes on him.
She looked at him, really looked at him, and it was a heady gaze.
“I bet you don’t hit women,” she said breathlessly, her eyes moving over his face.
He hadn’t realised how close they had moved toward each other in the living room. He felt her breath on his face, smelled a faint effluvium of wine on it.
“If you’re worried, if you think Daniel will hit you, then leave,” he said. “Get out. Now.”
She shook her head, but her eyes remained on his face.
“I can’t. I just...I can’t. Most of the time we’re fantastic together. Most of the time it’s just...beautiful. But recently, it’s been bad.” She leaned forward, putting her head on his shoulder, and without any conscious decision, he put his arms around her. She smelled good. “It’s Margaret’s side of the business that’s making him like this. If she would just sign it over to him, things would be alright, they’d be back to normal. But no. She can’t just let it go. It’s keeping him awake at nights. And it’s making him crazy….God, I just wish this was over and done with.”
Sutton had trouble remembering the dilemma all of a sudden. The prospect of having Suzanne in his arms was blotting out everything. With effort, it came back to him.
“It’s her livelihood,” he said.
“I know,” she whispered. “I know. I hate it. I do. But Daniel doesn’t want to cut her out. He just wants to make it bigger. Make it more. Is that wrong?”
“No, but-“
“He’s actually very fond of Maggie,” she said. “He’s told me that often.”
Sutton took a breath.
“If he’s that fond of her, why is he trying to pull the rug out from under her?” He asked.
She took her head from his shoulder, tilted it slightly toward his.
Their faces were now only inches apart.
“He lost his father a month ago,” she said quietly. “You don’t know how much it’s affected him.”
Sutton took a step back. Fighting it. He knew he was being manipulated, and he didn’t like it.
“Maggie is getting on in years,” he said. “If something goes wrong, she could lose it all. She’s just too old to take that sort of risk. Daniel can start again but Maggie just doesn’t have that much time. Those shops are her retirement.”
Suzanne moaned.
“I was hoping that you’d talk to her, for me,” she said. She began stroking his hands, and then his arms, very lightly, a tantalising shiver of flesh against flesh. And against his will he felt himself responding. Her eyes turned on his like the headlights of a car, pinning him to the spot.
“Suzanne-“
“He’s never actually hit me, but...the way things are going...he’s just so angry all the time, and I’m scared...I’m so scared, Sutton...”
Her hands continued to caress his, slowly, carefully, totally implicit in what they were offering, in what she was offering, such a fine dish for so little effort. And he only had to move his head four inches toward her, until their lips met, to set the thing in motion…
But in that moment he realised, with something like relief, that he didn’t actually want her. She was a feast for the eyes, sure, but there was something about her, some aura, that acted as a repellent. What he really wanted was Angela. She was so much more real than this woman, in a way he couldn’t quite define. Suzanne was all make-up and artifice; Angela was the opposite, more substantial. She didn’t need face paint, or the fancy clothes. And she shunned every mask and gave you the truth, whether she wanted to or not.
It was just that old habits died hard. He had been something of a high spirited youth (a cosy anachronism for behaviour that was hardly laudable); maybe he had even been out of control. Maybe he had been trying to set some sort of a stupid record…
Or maybe he had been trying to prove to himself after his father had died, that he wasn’t alone.
“Did Daniel murder his father?” He asked.
Shock flashed in her eyes.
She took a step back.
The spell was broken.
He had selected the phrase that he knew would break the spell, totally and completely.
“What?”
“Did Daniel murder his father?” He repeated, stepping forward; keeping up the pressure.
“No.”
“But he’s violent,” Sutton pointed out.
“It was a homeless man-“
“Was it?”
“Yes. There were witnesses.”
“One witness.”
“But still…
“One witness can be bought.”
Her mouth hung open.
“What are you saying?”
“You know what I’m saying,” Sutton said, advancing as she retreated. She hit the edge of the sofa with the back of her knees, and bent to go around it. But still he advanced. “Daniel is violent. He has been in a rage. Your words. And something else you said. Waiting for him to stick a knife in you like…and then you stopped. Were you going to say, like he did with his father?”
“No-“
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Absolutely positive. It was that homeless man.”
“He was stabbed though, wasn’t he. Terry, I mean. Someone stabbed him.”
“Yes, but Daniel was at the house waiting for him-“
“Was he?”
“Yes, yes-“
“And he’s not been the same since his father died. Your words again.”
“He’s grieving-“
“Or he has a guilty conscience.”
She stopped retreating, and seemed to take a stand. Her support was Moral Outrage, and now she used it to prop herself up, like a walking stick.
“My God, who are you?”
Sutton stopped too.
He stood up straight and looked down his nose at her. So she knew her place.
“If you feel threatened, then get out. But my only involvement in this is to protect Maggie. She’s my only concern.”
“Why are you being like this? I thought you could help. I thought…”
“Go home,” he said. He was angry, and he wasn’t sure if it was with himself – for almost succumbing to this woman’s salacious offer – or with the whole damn situation. “Go home and tell him that if he doesn’t withdraw from this legal battle then I shall fabr
icate some sort of evidence that will have him involved with his father’s murder in a very big way.”
“You wouldn’t-“
“I would, Suzanne,” he said, and she looked and saw it in his eyes.
“Is it Angela?” She asked.
Again, the abrupt change of subject. And again, he was caught off guard.
“What?”
Suzanne nodded. She looked vindicated.
“I saw how you were with her, at the party.”
Feigning disdain, he said, “this has nothing to do with her. Maggie is a very old and very dear friend. She asked for my help, and that’s what I’m doing: I’m helping her.”
“It’s Angela,” Suzanne said, with a small look of triumph. “That bitch is in heat, that’s what it is.”
He should have been surprised…but he wasn’t. He understood that there were many faces to Suzanne, and that this was another one. This one was the Alpha Female, if there were such a thing. She had shuffled the deck, but instead of playing cards, she brought out roles: the Spousal Victim, the Vulnerable Female, the Seductress. What would be the next face? There would be hundreds, maybe one to match each dilemma, each problematic situation.
Sutton shook his head.
“It’s about the fact that it’s wrong. What he’s doing to Maggie is wrong. She offered Terry’s houses back to him; she didn’t have to. He should have been grateful for that. But instead he wanted it all. Well, he won’t get it. I’ll make sure of that. I’ll do everything I can to stop him. And if you’re as afraid of him as you make out, then you should be thankful, because this game will only end with one of us running away and licking our wounds. And it won’t be me.”
She blinked up at him. He felt that she was reassessing him in that moment. And a good thing too. It would save time, in the future.
He continued, “now, go home and tell him what I told you to tell him.”
“I can’t tell him that!” She squawked. “He’ll-“ She stopped herself.
“He’ll what? Kill you? Is that what you were going to say?”
“No.” But she would not meet his eye.
“Then phone him and tell him, and instead go and stay with your family. Either way, make sure he gets the message. I’m fed up with playing his game. It’s got to stop, Suzanne.”