by Mandy Lee
‘You’re wrong,’ he says quietly. Suddenly, his tone has changed. When I look up, I find his eyes fixed on me, examining me. ‘You’re the beautiful one.’
I don’t know how it happens. In a heartbeat, my happy mood is swept aside, replaced by emotions I thought were dead and buried long ago. I’m the beautiful one? No way is that statement correct. I’m inferior to my sister in just about every possible way. Salt water stings its way into my eyes. Oh no, I will myself, do not cry in front of him.
‘Just leave it.’
‘Maya, it’s true.’
I shake my head again. He’s skirting far too close to my weak spot, and all I want him to do is back away.
‘You said she was better looking than you. She’s not. You said she was more popular than you. I’m betting that she wasn’t.’
Oh God, he’s not giving up on this any time soon. If he’s not careful, he’s going to ruin a perfect morning, good and proper.
‘She had friends. Lots of friends,’ I explain. ‘I’m telling you, Dan. She was the Queen bee where we lived.’
‘And why was that?’
‘Is this important?’
‘It could be.’
I pause.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I say tartly, bending over and stepping into my fresh underwear.
He frowns at the photograph. ‘She was probably confident. That’s all. Over confident, in fact. And most of those friends only hung around with her because she had a certain power over them.’
I pull the knickers up and turn my back on him. First the coffee shop. Then the posh restaurant. And now here. It’s one thing to show a passing interest in someone’s family but this is beyond the pale. For the life of me, I can’t work out why he’s so intent on dragging this particular demon out of the shadows.
‘Please leave it,’ I whisper.
Teardrops begin to gather. They’re queuing up now, waiting impatiently to cause a scene. And finally he seems to have noticed. He turns to one side, replaces the picture on the table, and when he looks back up at me, a new softness has crossed his features.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says gently. ‘I’ve gone too far.’ Getting to his feet, he edges his way around the bed and draws me into his arms. ‘It was wrong of me to say those things.’
And that’s all it takes. One simple, tender act and I begin to sob. Digging my head into his jacket, I feel his arms close protectively around me. I have no idea how long I spend there, but when I finally tilt my head back, there’s a huge wet patch on his shoulder.
‘What’s that?’ he asks, nodding towards the corner of the room.
Evidently, while I’ve been crying my heart out into his tailored suit, he’s been busy thinking about something else. Releasing me, he moves away, leans down and retrieves the canvas from behind the crate. He stands it against a wall, positions himself on the edge of the bed, and stares at it.
‘I started again.’ I wipe the last of the tears from my cheek.
‘Where is it?’
‘It could be anywhere, I suppose. But in my mind, it’s a place on the outskirts of the town I grew up in. It’s not finished yet.’
He motions for me to sit between his legs. Obediently, I manoeuvre myself into place and feel his arms around me, his chin resting on my shoulder.
‘It’s beautiful. You need to finish it.’
I suck in a shaky breath.
‘I will.’
‘Tell me about this place.’
‘It’s just woodland, that’s all. It’s pretty near the primary school, but not many kids went in there. They all said it was haunted … but I knew it wasn’t. It was a kind of sanctuary for me.’
‘A sanctuary?’
I try my best to swallow back a sob. This is a part of my life that I’ve always managed to keep closed away from prying minds. Even Lucy has no idea what I was like as a child. But Daniel Foster is about to find out because just about everywhere he treads, he manages to open me up. I simply have no choice in the matter.
‘From feeling different,’ I say at last. ‘I was a dreamer. I used to paint and draw. I used to read a lot too. The other kids thought I was weird. I never felt comfortable around them.’ I point at the painting. ‘I used to go there when things got too much for me.’
‘Sanctuary,’ he murmurs.
The next few seconds drag by in silence, and while my cheeks are tickled by yet another handful of tears, he holds me firmly, brushing his fingers against my arm in slow, reassuring movements. At last, his right arm releases me and I turn to find that he’s pulled his mobile from his jacket pocket. He gazes into my eyes as he begins to speak.
‘Carla, this is your boss. I’ll be in late this morning. As soon as you get this message, clear my commitments until eleven o’clock. If anyone asks why I’m not in, tell them to mind their own fucking business. Oh, and Carla, just ignore anything strange you find in the diary.’
He scowls at his phone and touches the end-call icon.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask.
‘You heard me. I’m not about to leave you alone when you’re all upset, and especially not when I’ve caused it. We’ll drop the car back at my place. I’ll get the concierge to taxi my things over to the office, and then we’ll walk in. Slowly. Stopping off for coffee. I need to make sure you’re alright before I leave.’
***
After a record-breaking drive back to his apartment, I find myself leaning against the wall of the south embankment, staring out across the water at the Millbank Tower. And right by my side, Daniel Foster is propped up on his elbows, arms crossed, quietly examining my face. I’d half expected to be dragged back up to his apartment for another dose of sex. But true to his word, he arranged for his briefcase and suitcase to be taken over to the office, and then he guided me straight outside.
‘Are you sure about this?’ I ask.
‘Of course.’
‘But your work …’
‘Sod work.’
In the morning sun, his eyes are brighter than I’ve ever seen them before. I take a moment or two to get lost in them, staring at the dark blue circles that edge their way around his irises. Fraying here and there, they bleed inwards through a paler blue, towards the tiny flecks of gold that are gathered round his pupils like iron filings around a magnet.
‘So, what shall we talk about?’ he asks, tugging me out of my swoon.
I shrug.
‘No idea.’
‘How well do you know this side of the river?’
‘I know bits of it. I’m a north side girl really.’
‘Woman,’ he corrects me quickly.
‘Woman,’ I laugh.
‘Well, we’ll have to change that. I’m going to transform you into a south side woman. What do you think about that?’ He nudges his arm against mine and my heart valves malfunction for a split second. Relationship talk, my brain calls out. That was definitely relationship talk!
‘Try your best.’ I’m going to be cool about this if it kills me.
‘Okay, I will. In fact, I’m going to give you a guided tour, starting with where I live.’ He turns and leans back against the wall. ‘This is the Albert Embankment and that …’ he nods up at his penthouse apartment, ‘is Lambeth House. Store that away in your head for future reference, Miss Scotton. You’ll be coming here a lot.’
There’s a ping from his mobile. With a deep sigh, he takes it out of his pocket and opens up a message. He frowns, bites his lip, shakes his head slightly and then drops the phone back into his pocket. The message has bothered him. That much is obvious.
‘Who was that?’
‘Nobody worth bothering with.’
He shrugs off my question, distracted by the sight of a young couple who stroll past us in the morning sun, holding hands. He watches them for a few seconds before he stares down at his right hand, lifting it slightly, examining it as if it doesn’t really belong to the rest of his body. Finally, he thrusts the hand out towards me. With a smile, I p
lace my fingers in his, feeling them close around my skin, sending a warm, delicious tingle right to my centre.
‘Come on then,’ he says. ‘We’d better get moving.’
With my hand firmly clasped in his, he leads me on. We cross a road and continue down a walkway that’s dotted with wrought iron benches.
‘Lambeth Palace.’ He waves a hand to the right. ‘I don’t know what it’s for. And that’s a bunch of nut jobs.’ He points out across the river, towards the Houses of Parliament.
‘This is really informative, Mr Foster. Thank you. Just like a real guided tour.’
‘Don’t be sarcastic. Remember the situation.’
He points down at the bulge in his crotch.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘If you get cheeky with me this morning, Miss Scotton, I’ll have to cancel my trip to Edinburgh, take you back home and fuck you senseless. And that would be one hell of an expensive fuck.’
‘Edinburgh?’ I stop in my tracks, wavering next to a bench and gazing up at a streetlamp. Even now, after all this time, the mere mention of the place sends a shiver skittering its way up my spine. ‘I didn’t know you were going to Edinburgh.’
His eyebrows dip into a frown. ‘Is that a problem?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘It’s where you studied. It should hold some fond memories for you.’
It does, I want to tell him. And some bad ones too. But there are just some doors that you’re never going to open, Mr Foster, so don’t even ask about it. He studies my face for a moment, and I know that he’s suspicious.
‘Another time.’ He squeezes my hand and leads me further on down the embankment.
We cross Westminster Bridge, moving on past the old County Hall where the first queues of the day are beginning to form.
‘Load of boring fish.’ He waves a hand to the right, at the Aquarium. ‘Big round thing.’ He points up at the London Eye. ‘Fancy a ride?’
I come to a halt beneath the huge, metal stays of the Eye and gaze up at the wheel. Just looking at the bloody thing sends me into a spin. In an instant, my legs turn to jelly and my heart begins to pummel at my rib cage. If I look at it any longer, I’ll throw up.
‘Not right now, thanks.’
‘Scared of heights?’
I nod pathetically, and he nods in return before we move on again, in silence, making our way past Jubilee Gardens and under Waterloo Bridge, passing one landmark after another until he finally comes to a halt.
‘Gabriel’s Wharf,’ he announces, guiding me away from the river. ‘My favourite place to stop off for a coffee.’
He steers me down a set of steps into a courtyard that’s littered with metal tables and chairs. Letting go of my hand, he pulls out a chair and motions for me to sit down. I find myself gazing straight ahead at a wooden pagoda that seems to have seen better days. In fact, the entire place seems to have seen better days. To my left, the South Bank Tower pops its head out of a clump of trees and to the right, a faded mural covers the wall. Obviously intended to jazz up the place, it’s flaking now, and cracked. The whole area is encircled with small, shack-like buildings, tiny outlets.
‘This is your favourite place?’ I ask. We’ve passed all manner of upmarket cafes and he’s chosen this? ‘I mean, it’s not what I expected.’
‘You mean it’s not all swish and posh?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Well, maybe I’m not all swish and posh,’ he smiles, tapping the side of his nose. ‘And that place there,’ he nods towards a small coffee shop that’s nestled in between a jewellery store and an independent gallery, ‘does the best coffee this side of the Thames.’
Without asking me what I want, he disappears off into the shop, leaving me to examine my surroundings. There’s barely a soul around at this time of day. The tourists are still pretty thin on the ground, and every last one of them seems to have decided to give this place a miss. In the quiet, I can hear the sounds of laughter coming from the coffee shop. I narrow my eyes, trying to see what’s going on, only to find that it’s Dan, deep in conversation with the owner. A moment later, he returns to the table, pulls out a chair next to me, and sits down. I hear another ping from his mobile.
‘Aren’t you going to read it?’
He shakes his head.
‘Could be important,’ I push.
‘And it could be a load of bollocks.’ He smiles warmly at the waiter as he brings us our drinks. The waiter deposits the drinks on the table, takes a good look at me, and touches Dan on the shoulder.
‘Bella,’ the waiter beams. ‘Avete scelto bene.’
With a nod, he disappears back inside his shack.
‘What was that all about?’ I demand.
‘No idea.’ Picking up his mug, he takes a sip of coffee.
‘But you nodded at him. You speak Italian?’
‘A little. Do you?’
‘No.’
He smiles, and I know full well that he’s just understood every last one of the waiter’s words, completely. Avete scelto bene. I commit the words to memory. As soon as I get to a computer, I’m logging straight onto a translation site.
‘So,’ I murmur, ‘thank you.’
‘For what?’
‘Spending time with me this morning.’
‘I wanted to do it, Maya. And for once in my life, I’m going to do things I actually want to do. And besides, it’s been enlightening.’
‘Has it?’
‘Oh yes. I’ve learned that you’re scared.’
‘I’m not scared.’
‘Really? I beg to disagree. I already knew you were scared of thunder and now I know you’re also scared of heights. I wonder where this all comes from.’
‘It’s not important.’
‘I’d say it is. And just for the record, I will drag it out of you.’
And how? By tying me up and torturing me with pleasure? Alright then, mister. If you think you’re going to have some fun dragging this out of me, I’m simply going to undermine you and spill the beans straight away.
‘My sister.’
‘Sara?’ He’s suddenly serious. ‘I thought you didn’t want to talk about her.’
‘I don’t, but seeing as you’re determined to drag it out of me, we might as well just get on with it.’
He slips an arm around my back, waiting for me to elaborate. Taking in a good lungful of air and then blowing it back out again, I launch into my pathetic little story.
‘When I was little, we slept outside one night. We had a little wooden playhouse down at the bottom of the garden. We pleaded with Mum and Dad to let us sleep in there. In the middle of the night, there was a thunder storm and she told me that the house was going to catch on fire. She told me the lightning was going to get me.’
‘Which you now know is rubbish?’
‘Of course I do,’ I snap. ‘It’s just hard to shake off the after-effects. That’s all. I was stuck in that bloody shed all night. She wouldn’t let me out.’
‘And the heights?’
‘She made me climb a tree once. I got stuck. She had her friends with her. They all thought it was hilarious. They left me. I fell out of the tree and broke my arm. It’s stupid.’
And that’s done it. Stifling a sniff, I curse myself for my weakness. Whenever I begin to talk about Sara and my childhood, it’s always the same. I begin to well up.
‘She’s caused a lot of damage,’ he mutters.
Okay. Time for a tactical withdrawal. If he pushes any further into Sara territory, there’s going to be another embarrassing scene.
‘I’m scared of thunder and I’m scared of heights. I wouldn’t say that’s an awful lot of damage.’
‘No, it’s not. But I think there’s more.’
I pick up my cup. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Just a feeling.’
I shrug, take a sip of my drink and gaze up at a bunch of trees.
‘I have a theory,’ he adds.
‘Already?’
‘Do you want to hear it?’
‘Go ahead,’ I sigh. I’m sure he’s going to foist it upon me anyway.
‘You grew up believing she was better than you, even though that simply wasn’t true. And I’m betting this made you unsure of yourself, even though you had nothing to be unsure of.’
I look up into the whorls of blue. He’s hit the nail right on the bloody head there. But how the hell has he done that? I should be sensing the first sparks of anger right now, but I’m not. Instead, I just want to cave in.
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ he probes.
I shake my head, too weakly.
His lips curl upwards, but I can see that there’s no trace of a smile in his eyes, only anger.
‘I’m guessing you escaped her influence in Edinburgh, but the damage was already done.’
‘Damage?’
‘A crippling lack of self-esteem.’ He pauses, letting the words hang in the air between us, watching my face for the slightest trace of confirmation. And he must have found it too, in a wobbling lip or a second’s worth of a micro-expression, because before long he’s talking again. ‘You shone while you were in Edinburgh. That much is obvious. But it didn’t take much for you to be knocked back down again.’ He takes a sip of his coffee. ‘Now I have no idea why you never pushed your talent in the art world, but I’m certain of one thing. Your sister is the root cause of all this.’
‘She was young.’ Tears prickle their way into the open. ‘She was an idiot. She’s alright now.’
‘And you’ve forgiven her?’
‘Why not? People change.’
‘They do. But do they change that much?’
The first slither of salt water dribbles its way down my cheek. With a frown, he reaches up and wipes it away.
‘Too far, too soon. I’m sorry.’
He lowers his head, searching my eyes for forgiveness and with a faint smile, I give it to him.
‘So, yet again, you’ve found out plenty about me,’ I whisper. ‘And I’ve found out bugger all about you.’
Placing his cup back on the table top, he lets out a sigh.
‘Fire away then.’
‘Let’s discuss your childhood.’
‘There’s nothing to discuss.’
‘I beg to differ. Come on. What were you like?’