“Mother.”
Her eyes refused to move from his. She stared deep into his soul and he could feel the bitterness and the twisted, hate-filled love. She was the most spiteful, venomous, controlling, wicked, evil, tortuous woman the world had ever made…
He smiled.
And she was his mother. Her hate filled him with love and her love filled him with hate. Her emotions were turbulent and confusing, but he was ever her true offspring. She was the well of his soul, and he both loved and hated her for it.
And he’d poisoned her to keep her out of his business, but she wouldn’t die.
And he’d sunk her ship in the Tiber to drown her to keep her from interfering in his rule, but she swam to shore.
But the Praetorians and their swords had finished the job.
She may be staring at him now, but he knew that she approved. She would have done the same thing, had the roles been reversed.
“I still love you, mother. I still love you.”
But Agrippina turned to the eastern wall and gazed through it.
For a long moment, Nero sat on the edge of his bed, his toes wrinkling in the carpet, scrunching the deep pile. The three grey figures of the only women he had ever loved stood facing away from him, each draining a piece of his soul. He fancied he could feel it leaving even now. Three women who had loved him and he had loved back. Three women he had killed.
Three women he had loved to death.
And who had taken away his soul with their distant disapproval.
What could he do? What was there left for the world to offer him when the only three women he had ever loved turned their backs on him?
***
Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, Emperor of Rome and beloved of the people woke with a start on a pillow soaked with cold sweat and stained with tears. He felt drained; wracked and empty. Hollow.
The tears had rolled down his face in his sleep. He hadn’t cried since the baby girl died, all that time ago. But the night’s ghosts had stirred up things that he could neither understand, nor deal with. Three ghosts had rent his soul apart last night in feverish dream.
He stirred and felt something hard beneath his cheek.
Startled, he pulled back, sitting bolt upright and staring down at the pillows.
A dagger?
The beautiful, smooth knife lay among the silk, glinting with beauty. Its hilt was wrapped in bands of red, gold and purple, its crosspiece of intricately-worked silver.
But the pommel…
His heart stopped beating for precious moments. Three cold, silver faces stared out from the round pommel, six dead, sightless eyes staring at him with disapproval and disappointment, such that whatever way he spun the knife in his hand, at least one of them was disapproving and disappointed directly at him.
“No…”
But the knife was beautiful. And he loved it just as he hated it. It had the beauty of Poppaea, with its voluptuous hilt, the austerity of Octavia with its plain, straight blade, and the commanding presence of Agrippina, in the way it grasped his attention and would not release his gaze.
“How can this be? I will have the slaves flogged to death; or crucified for this!”
But he knew in his heart that no slave had come to his room last night.
Only his three great loves.
A respectful knock at the door made him jump, and he found he was sweating and shaking a little as he bade whoever it was to enter. The door opened quickly and silently, and Epaphroditos, his secretary, hurried in, clicking the door shut behind him and staring wild eyed around the room, seemingly panicked.
“What is it, faithful Epaphroditos?”
“Majesty, they’re all gone!”
Nero frowned in confusion as he turned the knife around in his hand, balancing it on a fingertip where it drew a pinprick of blood as it spun.
“Who are gone, man?”
“The guards, my emperor, and the servants. Even the slaves. The palace is empty. But there are people in the streets outside and I hear them shout that the senate has declared you an enemy of Rome; that the Praetorian prefect is coming for you; that Galba is now emperor, even though abroad! You must flee, my emperor.”
Nero stared at the man, still turning the knife.
“My lord!” the man beseeched.
With a single nod, Nero sighed deeply.
“Then prepare to leave, but pack lightly, my friend. My journey will end soon, and I know now how it will conclude.”
As the secretary shook his head in panicked confusion, Nero turned the knife one full turn and smiled sadly.
“Rest easy, my loves, for I shall be with you all shortly.”
The Game
Monday
It was the way he’d looked at her. On the tube that evening, the Piccadilly Line. He appeared at Holborn, one stop after hers, in a black, leather coat, a striped scarf wrapped twice around his throat.
Thank God she was looking good. Otherwise, who knows?
She knew what he was thinking, of course, and lowered her eyes in sham bashfulness. Always a hook.
Caz was in no hurry. She could take her time with this one, place herself in his path often but not always. He’d be sure to notice any absence, which always added to the intrigue.
He left the train at Turnpike Lane, one stop before hers at Wood Green.
***
Tuesday
Good timing, as ever, for the train home. Approaching the stop before his, she made a big deal of buttoning her coat and getting ready to leave the train. She glanced briefly over her shoulder before stepping onto the platform. Yes, he was watching, perhaps surprised. And yes, it meant an extra walk for her, but it was necessary. Then eye contact until the carriage was past. This was going well.
***
Wednesday
Same time, and she lifted her brow as she met his gaze. He hesitated, and then came to sit beside her.
“Hi.”
Eyes cast towards his waist, she nodded just once.
“Seen you around. I’m Daniel.”
“Caz.”
She began to shred the tissue in her left coat pocket. Always the left side. Nothing further was said, though she felt his nearness acutely. Let him think there was no great interest as yet.
***
Thursday
Same train home, but packed that evening. She was sandwiched between two women and he had to stand, but they exchanged a glance. So sweet. He left the train at her stop, right behind her, his hand gently against her back. Not unexpected at this stage, and she looked at him with a question in her eyes.
In fifteen minutes, she was sitting straight-backed in a coffee shop as he returned to the table with drinks. Black for her (not her usual way) and white with sugar for himself. As he stirred, she saw there was no ring – not that it told you much these days. They swapped details of jobs, their ages, where they lived.
“My flat’s on Carnaby Road,” he told her. “Not Carnaby Street, though, sadly,” he laughed, and he watched her face.
“I know where that is.”
Now he was fiddling with a button on his jacket. “Sorry if I seemed to be staring. It’s just that, well, you reminded me of someone. Sorry.”
“No need to apologise. People sometimes tell me that, and anyway, I know the feeling.”
Then she started to talk about Rob. Well, the first part. A short, intense relationship that had left her shaken when he decided to go. It was such a shame … She didn’t finish the story, didn’t say how the rejection was too much to bear.
“Look, Caz, you don’t need to tell me if you’d rather not. It’s sort of private – isn’t it?”
“No, I want to. I want to explain why it happened. I mean, he was young, ambitious.”
Daniel held up his hand for her to stop, and she bit her lip and fell silent.
***
Friday
She went to work very early, so as to get away in good time. Then, making her way to the road, she l
ooked around for a place to keep watch. The park bench would have to do, and with her hat pulled down low over her eyes so she would not be recognised.
At the expected time, Daniel came striding in her direction from the other side. He looked pensive, which was quite attractive, no doubt thinking about her and wondering why she hadn’t been on the train. She looked down as he passed, then watched him enter the block of flats just beyond the second lamppost from her bench. She pulled out her notebook and pen, and wrote ‘Carnaby Court’, then replaced the rubber band around it and pushed it into her bag.
Once he was out of sight, she strolled over to the block. A quick look at the column of doorbells listed Daniel Fairway in flat 3. Fairway.
***
Monday
They chatted lightly on the way home, standing side by side and close this time, and she talked about the novel she’d begun to write, a thriller. But by the time they parted, he still hadn’t suggested meeting again socially. This was a glitch, hopefully temporary; they should be further forward by now, though she felt sure that he wanted to ask her. It took only four days with Rob – but then he’d been younger and always so confident.
“See you tomorrow?” he asked.
“For sure.”
But on the Tuesday, Daniel was not where he was supposed to be.
***
Wednesday
She left work early again, pulled on the hat, and made her way over. Taking up her place on the bench, she was prepared to wait but was absently shredding a new tissue in her left pocket.
She thought about the older man on the train that day; not the first time she’d seen him. He’d shown a definite interest, and he looked quite good for his age – she guessed fifty-five - but he’d have to wait for a while. Two or three weeks, maybe, she should be ready round about then.
Daniel walked towards his block, no scarf and on her side of the road this time. He was surely a looker, one you wouldn’t pass up. He glanced at her, and there was hesitation. Big mistake of hers, making eye contact. He turned to face her fully.
“Caz?”
No point in denying it now.
“What are you doing here?”
She thought quickly. Told him that she knew someone in the road but not which house. Then she shook her head and twisted her fingers together in a mock nervousness.
“Sorry. I’m lying. I wanted to tell you my hours have changed, so we may not meet up like we usually do.”
He looked surprised. “Good of you, Caz, thanks, but not necessary. Although I confess, I did wonder. And if you don’t mind my asking, …”
Caz held up her right palm. “It’s OK. Not to worry. Doesn’t matter.” She walked away. He still hadn’t asked for another meeting; this was not going well, some adjustments would have to be made.
***
Thursday
She wrote him a letter, first class, in brown ink using a fountain pen and neat script. A dark stain remained on the middle finger of her left hand. The colour of old blood.
‘Hi, Daniel. Hope you don’t mind me writing – and asking – but I wondered if we could meet up like we did before. Only this time, maybe a drink? My treat – I’ve been such an idiot. Please call me. Love, Caz xx.’
Forgot to include her number – uncharacteristic.
***
Monday
He didn’t see her, although she’d been watching as he scanned all around on the train, at the station, along his road. His shoulders looked tense – must be upset, thinking he wouldn’t see her again. It was easy enough to find his landline number, and he jumped when his phone rang late at night. It quickly stopped. 1471 – “The caller withheld their number.” After a few minutes she called again.
“Hi. It’s Caz.”
“Oh, hello, Caz. Haven’t seen you for a bit. What’ve you been up to?”
“Did you get my letter?” After a few moments, “Just wanted to say sorry again, and hope I’ve not upset you. I wondered if you meant to get back in touch, but then I realised I hadn’t given you my mobile number.” She recited it slowly, for him to write down.
He spoke quickly. “Actually, I’d like to. Very much. Just that I’ve had a lot to think about. If you can give me a day or two, I’ll get back to you. Take you up on your offer.”
“Is it because I still remind you?”
“That’s what first caught my interest. But I hope we can get past that.”
“So do I. And don’t leave it too long. I miss our chats.”
***
Wednesday
Another letter written. Daniel, are you still around? Haven’t seen or heard from you. Please can we meet? I really need to see you. There’s something I’d like to run past you. In case you might have misheard my mobile number, here it is again.
Caz had been wondering why this one wasn’t straightforward. Rob had been easier at first, but he made a mistake cooling and then turning her down for a better offer. And look what happened – all his fault. He wouldn’t be playing that card again. And now, she so hoped that Daniel would be different, and there was still a good chance that he might be.
***
Friday
The silence was becoming frustrating, infuriating. But that evening her phone buzzed. A text from Daniel. Sorry for delay. Meet Black Dog tomorrow 8pm? Your round.
He deserved to wait for her reply.
***
Saturday morning
Hi D. That wd be good. But 1st date – shd be your round.
Now we’re getting somewhere.
***
Saturday evening
He was there when she arrived at 8.10. He brought back the drinks – large scotch with water, and one Campari and soda. She disliked Campari but knew he would think it chic. She quizzed him about his recent absence, but he shifted in his chair and gave a vague change-of-routine explanation. He asked what she wanted to run past him, and it took her a moment to recall what she’d said. She hedged, then said it was just the plot for her novel. Wouldn’t be wise to go too fast.
After a second drink, they left – her suggestion, to go for a walk. Conversation was easy and relaxed but nothing of importance. They parted on the train, and she – seeming impulsive – leaned across and kissed him lightly on the cheek, at the same time brushing her hand gently down the side of his face. He could call her after the weekend.
***
Monday
No sign on the train, but the older man was there, now looking intently at her for sure.
***
Wednesday evening
Her mobile rang, flagging up Daniel. This was good.
“Hi, Daniel. Good to hear from you.”
He cut her short. “Look, Caz, I’m really sorry I didn’t call, but something’s come up. I need to explain.”
“I’m listening.”
“There’s no easy way to say this.”
“Just spit it out.”
“The firm want me to move to Manchester soon, and I …”
“What?”
“Manchester. There’s a new hub there, and we had a meeting. I’ve just told them I’ll go.”
A short silence, then, “Why?”
“It’s the career break of my dreams. I can’t turn it down. You must see that?”
“When will you go?”
“Three weeks. Caz, I’m really sorry. We were getting on well, weren’t we? We can meet for a drink again to talk about it, say tomorrow, if you’d like to – same time, same place?”
“All right.”
Oh Daniel. This was not going to end here.
***
Thursday
She was first at The Black Dog this time, 7.45, to be sure of a good, quiet table. In the circumstances he could buy the first drink again.
By 8.10 he hadn’t arrived, and she rechecked her notebook before replacing the rubber band. She shredded another tissue in her left pocket. Then he came.
“Sorry, sorry. Worked late, but here now. What’ll you have?”
<
br /> The bar was becoming busy, and noisy with a quiz night. She hadn’t planned for that. Buying the round took several minutes, but he returned with the same drinks as before.
He looked nervous, as well he might. “You look great, Caz. Purple really suits you.”
She pretended not to hear above the noise.
“I said, you look great.”
“Thanks. So do you, Daniel.” And she realised it was true. Could this really be going to end, almost before it had begun?
He asked politely about her novel. She let him persuade her to tell him, and described it as a murder mystery.
“Wow! Not written from experience, I hope.”
She dropped her glass and the pink campari spread across between them. He fetched a cloth from the bar and started to mop the table, taking care to stop the liquid from splashing onto her frock. His hand brushed against hers, and she shivered and stared at him.
“I’ll get you another.”
She refused, complained about the heat and the noise, and asked whether they might go outside to the car park to cool down. He agreed, picked up his drink and guided her through the crowd that was growing around the bar. They leant against the low wall of the car park, and he asked about Rob.
A few more sketchy details. She’d liked Rob a lot, but he told her out of the blue that he’d met someone younger and that their relationship was over.
“What did you do?”
“What anyone would have done.” She looked steadily into his eyes.
“Most people would have been down for a bit, but then would have tried to move on.”
“Not me.”
He looked at her sharply, and waited. She put her right hand behind her back, still holding the clutch bag.
“Look, Daniel. I wasn’t sure about you at first, but now, well I think I might be falling for you. I really don’t want you to call it a day and move up to Manchester. Surely it’s not too late to change your mind? Please?”
Daniel told her that he liked her very much, and any other time it would have developed into a lasting relationship. But he had accepted the offer of promotion and would not go back on his word. After all, they could still meet up at weekends, and call one another.
He noticed the tears in her eyes, the clenched fist, but not the knife in her left hand behind her.
Tortured Hearts - Twisted Tales of Love - Volume 3 Page 8