by Orla Bailey
He draws back and looks at me. “Okay, I’m trusting you. Behave yourself.”
“Me?” Okay, that may have been a sass too far.
But he visibly unbends. Perhaps he’s reasoned it might be something to do with his birthday in the end. “Be good.”
“I will if you will.” I give him a cheeky grin and he slaps me on the rump.
I know he doesn’t want to let me go, especially without him, so his faith in me is a pretty big deal, even if it is reluctantly given. I have to remember, he was pretty ticked off the last time I left him at Belvedere and he’s made me promise over and over not to run.
I have an evening gown and one of Jack’s dinner suits with shirt, shoes and underwear already tightly folded in a hold-all and hidden in the bedroom. I’ll have to get the hotel to sort out any creases when I arrive. I place it by the lift as Jack returns to see me off.
“Here’s the card. Have you got enough money for the cab?”
I hold up my purse, an essential part of the ruse, and slip the card inside it. I turn stiffly to pick up the bag. This is an awkward moment as he’s bound to query what I’m doing with a hold-all. I almost wish I’d hidden it outside the apartment but figured he’d insist on walking me outside anyway and picking up a bag hidden in the garage would look even more suspicious. If only Amanda had given me more time to plan.
If he insists on looking inside, I’m screwed.
“What do you need a hold-all for?” It’s hard to imagine he believes any part of my tale especially as I’m practically squirming.
“Just girly stuff Libby might need.”
“That’s an awful lot of Kleenex.” He stares at me like I might be packed and running out on him.
I think of everything he taught me about confidence in CEOs, turn and face him; steeling my nerve. “Don’t be sarcastic, Jack. Knowing Libby she probably ran out of the house in a bath-towel. I just threw a change of clothing into a bag, in case she needs it. And some toiletries and over-night stuff so she can go straight to her mother’s or a hotel.”
I face him down.
It works. He hits the button to open the elevator and accompanies me down to wait for the taxi. “Keep your phone handy. Let me know the minute you reach Libby.”
I pat my bag as if it’s inside. But the phone is where I deliberately left it, on silent, on the floor just beneath the edge of the bed. When he finds it, it will look like I dropped it there accidently.
Jack is going to kill me when he discovers the lengths I’ve gone to, to deceive him. I intend to direct that wrath towards Amanda when the time comes. If Advance’s planning is no more organised than hers, then CaidCo have the Zee-Com contract in the bag. That thought cheers me up a little.
The taxi pulls up and I turn to Jack. “I’m sorry if I’m spoiling your plans.”
It’s the wrong thing to say.
His voice chills. “Is that what you’re doing, Tabitha?” It’s clear he doesn’t altogether believe these events and this may have ruined all the headway we’ve made today.
But I have to trust he’ll understand when we meet up later. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”
I jump in quickly and close the door. I can’t stand the look of disillusionment on his face. Even anger is easier to deal with than that. He looks hurt and confused that I would want to be without him now and there’s nothing I can say to make it better.
I smile and wave yet he doesn’t wave back. The look of doubt on his face disturbs me but I shrug off the bad feeling that rolls over me like a winter’s wind and freezes my marrow. Anyone would feel bad, if they’d had to pull off a pretence like I’ve just done.
I must try to relax and trust everyone else manages their part of the deal. At least the plan is working and I’ll see him soon enough to explain everything. I comfort myself with that.
The next time Jack sees me I’ll be looking totally desirable, wearing a beautiful gown, holding a glass of sparkling Champagne in my hand and wishing a very surprised man a special happy birthday.
Chapter Nineteen
The taxi glides along Brook Street and deposits me at the entrance to Claridge’s hotel. A liveried doorman steps forward to open the door as I finish paying the fare.
“Good evening, madam.”
“Good evening.” I step inside as the sun drops behind adjacent buildings and cross the shiny bold black and white art deco lobby floor to reception.
Crystal chandeliers, pillared arches, open fireplaces and framed paintings create a stunningly luxurious ambience and I can see why Amanda chose this hotel as the venue for Jack’s dinner. It’s tastefully elegant.
“Welcome to Claridge’s. May I help you, madam?” The smartly uniformed receptionist smiles, making me very glad I changed into my Vera Wang dress even if it did cause a little friction. Clothes inspire confidence. Jack taught me that. He can hardly complain when I use the knowledge to my advantage.
I have no idea whose name any of this is booked in. “I’m here for Jack Keogh’s party?”
She consults her monitor and looks up smiling. “Tabitha Caid?”
“That’s me.” Amanda is more efficient than I give her credit for. At least it saves me any long-winded explanations.
She clicks a few buttons and sorts a key card, handing it to me. “The Prince Alexander Suite has been reserved. I’ll have a porter show you the way and take your luggage.”
“Thank you.” It’s a bit embarrassing carrying a silly gym hold-all in this swanky environment but I’d never have got out of Belvedere alive with a posh suitcase.
A suite seems a bit over the top as a room to change in but as soon as I remember Jack will be using it to change too it makes a little more sense. Amanda and Advance are going for broke but I know Jack better by now. It will take more than a fancy hotel room to sway his mind over a lucrative contract with Zee-Com.
The receptionist wishes me a comfortable stay and the porter carries my bag like it’s Louis Vuitton, not high street.
“Elevator or stairs, Miss?”
“Stairs please.” The exercise will settle me, besides, call me childish but I really fancy the idea of sweeping up that amazing curved staircase.
He leads me to the suite. When he opens up and shows me the rooms, I’m stunned by the elegance. The sitting room reminds me of a Regency novel, except with comfortably modern upholstered furniture. A vast mirror covers the fireplace wall but what really takes my breath away is the grand piano. This all seems rather excessive even for Amanda’s grand schemes.
I hand the porter a tip and when he leaves I rush into the bedroom. Instantly I picture Jack and me in that enormous king-sized bed with the striped sofa at the foot. This will be the place I tell Jack I love him, I decide. I don’t even care if Amanda has other ideas. They will not supersede mine.
Perhaps she booked this opulent suite to seduce Jack in herself. Well she’ll have a hard job as I’m not letting him out of my sight for a minute. I’ll drag him up here if I have to. With every instinct I possess, I know I’m standing in the place where everything will come to light. I picture myself naked on the bed, willing Jack to come to me. I see the look of longing on his face as he stands in the doorway. I feel the heat of his desire.
I can’t wait. It’s time he knew the truth.
It’s hard not to let my fantasies run away with me. I test the bed with a little bounce and caress the high quality linen. Then I dance through to the sitting room and tap out a tune, one-handed, on the piano. I find myself humming a few bars of Price Tag which makes me laugh. This place is all about the money but my love is definitely for free.
A moment of nervousness stills me. What if he rejects me this time too?
I can’t allow myself to think like that. All the signs were there today that he finally wants me the way that I want him. I’m wearing his eternal knot pendant to prove it.
Remembering the clothes I packed for the dinner tonight still crushed up in the holdall, I rush to check the damage and hang ev
erything up. The creases should drop out of my gold silk gown and Jack’s shirt, especially if I hang them in the bathroom while I take a hot shower but I decide to ask house-keeping to press his suit. I want everything to be perfect.
I phone down with my request and they agree to send someone up to collect it immediately. When the knock sounds a few minutes later I go prepared with suit in hand.
“Housekeeping, madam.”
“Fast service. Thank you. Could I get the gentleman’s suit carefully pressed and returned within the hour?”
“Of course.” It’s removed.
As I have sufficient time, I start to run a leisurely bath when the door is tapped on again. I turn off the water and open up to a man in a dark suit carrying a bucket of Champagne and two glasses.
“Compliments of the house, Miss Caid.”
I’m stunned. It’s totally unexpected but then I don’t stay in exclusive London hotel suites every day of the week. Or ever.
“Put it on the table over there.” I stand back to allow entry. Jack and I can share it later to celebrate his birthday and my revelation in one go. Hoping he responds the way I want him to, I’m all anxiety again. And if he rejects my declaration of love? I can’t think about that or I won’t be able to go through with it.
“I’m instructed to open it, Miss Caid. In celebration of your stay at Claridge’s.”
“Oh. I’d rather wait for my partner, if that’s okay.”
He leans in conspiratorially. “This is a suite. I’ll send up another bottle.” He removes the foil as he speaks.
It seems a little strange he would ignore a guest’s preference. The hotel can’t force someone to drink their Champagne. He glances over and I realise I’m wearing a puzzled expression.
He smiles. “You wouldn’t want me to fail in my duty, would you?”
“No. But –”
He whispers conspiratorially. “Just one glass won’t hurt, will it, Miss Caid? It’s included in the price and I’m supposed to make sure special guests get exactly what they deserve.”
“I suppose I could have one glass.” I don’t want to be drunk but one might relax me and perhaps Jack would like one too when he arrives and finds out what’s been going on. “That’s fine.”
The man has already poured a glass which he hands to me. He stands back with his arms clasped behind his back to watch me take a sip.
“Is it acceptable, Miss?”
“Yes. It’s lovely.” I sip again, wondering why he’s not leaving. Then I realise he’s waiting for a tip. “One moment.” I place the glass on the table and head towards the bedroom to get my purse.
As I turn he’s right behind me. Inside the bedroom. Holding onto my glass. Nothing about this is normal. He’s standing between me and the door.
“I’d like you to leave now.” I scrabble for a bank note and hold it out to him. He takes it, exchanging it for the Champagne. Well, if it will get him to leave. I take the glass as he stuffs the note in his pocket.
Even the manner in which he does that strikes me as abnormal. It’s unsubtle and so not the way a member of staff in a place like this accepts a generous tip.
“Drink the Champagne,” he says. His tone is noticeably less friendly.
I look at the glass in my hand and back at him again. Why the hell should he care if I drink the Champagne or not? A spike of adrenaline floods my body and my heart starts racing. This is all wrong. I try to remain calm by starting breathing techniques. The last thing I need is a panic attack.
“I’ll drink it, just as soon as you leave.”
He makes no move.
“Get out.”
“I think we both know I’m not going anywhere. Now drink the bloody Champagne.”
I move to fling it. He’s fast. Too fast. He grabs my hand with the glass still in it, dragging me against him. I’m off balance and struggling.
“You couldn’t just drink the fucking Champagne, could you?” He’s angry and struggles with me.
“Let me go. What the hell… are you… doing?” It’s hard to keep breathing as we scuffle for control.
I don’t stand a chance. He’s much bigger and stronger than I am and doesn’t even notice that I’m practically suffocating. He forces the glass to my lips and pours the remainder down my throat, flinging the empty glass onto a chair but keeping my chin tilted up until I swallow it or choke. I cough and gag but he’s already got it down me.
He pushes me onto the bed as I fight for breath. I’m scared. He’s no member of staff. What the hell does he want with me?
He’s standing close but I lurch for the house phone. I can’t seem to co-ordinate properly. He rips it out of my fingers and pushes me back onto the bed.
“Relax. Stop fighting it.”
Tears well in my eyes and all sorts of horrible possibilities flood through my head but I’m dizzy from lack of breath. I try to remain quiet and think. He hasn’t made another move towards me but when he does, I’m not going to have a hope in hell if I can’t even breathe. I try my best to stem the growing terror mid-flow.
Jack is coming. All his friends will be here soon. Amanda and Advance know where I am. Somebody will save me. I want Jack to come. I want Jack.
But I’m losing the battle. My head whirls. The room spins. I feel my muscles soften and go limp. The Champagne. He’s put something in the Champagne. That’s why he’s waiting. For me to black out before he hurts me.
I fix my swirling vision on his face. I want to recognise this bastard ready for the Police line-up. The court case. His features are already fuzzy. Nothing is clear. I sink down onto the bed unable to hold my head up any longer no matter how much I try. It’s as if I’m asleep with my eyes open. I can see, but only vaguely, like a mist is eddying round everything. I can hear him, but his voice seems further away.
“Tabitha? Tabitha?” He slaps my cheek but I don’t even blink. My hand lifts and drops again, flopping like a dead fish. He lifts my chin up to meet his gaze and peers closely into my eyes.
He knows my name. How does he know my name? Oh God, he knows my name. Why is he doing this to me? I try to speak but my tongue won’t work. It feels like a fat slug in my mouth. My only scream is the silent one shattering against the inside of my skull.
I’m helpless. Can’t move. Can’t speak. But I’m not unconscious because I see him, I hear him moving around me. Fear twists my gut. I’m going to know everything he does to me but I’m not going to be able to stop him. He drags my legs fully up onto the bed and removes my shoes one, by one, dropping them onto the floor. His sweaty hands on my ankles make my skin crawl. I feel a big fat tear roll down my cheek but I can’t even wipe it away.
“Keep still, Tabitha. Don’t fight it.” He chuckles, enjoying his sick little joke. “This will be over soon.”
God help me.
The man walks around the bed to the other side. Despite my jumbled mind I try to recall his description. He’s tall and stocky, built like a rugby player. It’s no surprise he overwhelmed me so easily, especially once the drug started to take effect. The dark suit he’s wearing seems totally out of place on his frame. Why didn’t I notice that before? Perhaps he wore it to get to my hotel room without arousing suspicion. Appearances are everything, remember? There’s no question in my mind that he doesn’t work here. I’m trapped up here with a stranger.
Alone.
His hair is too long, swept back and dirty blonde and he has a mean look about the mouth. I try to notice scars; tattoos; even an earring or unusual jewellery but it’s impossible when I can no longer turn my head at will.
“Now I know what this looks like,” he tells me.
That totally freaks me. I want to scream for help, thrash and yell but it doesn’t happen.
He pulls the covers back on his side of the bed as if making to climb in. I want to vomit in fear. He reaches across, dragging me by an arm and a leg towards him until I’m lying on the bottom sheet. My dress slides up my thighs leaving me exposed and vulnerable. I ache t
o pull it down but feel completely helpless and frustrated that I can’t. My body feels like it’s cast in metal without any joints. My heart thunders, fit to burst but my respiration rate has abnormally slowed now. I’m a wild animal, cornered. Only it’s not possible to tell in my coma-like state.
“Just stay quiet and I won’t have to hurt you.” His chuckle chills me to the bone.
He’s not the only threat. If I vomit, I’ll choke and suffocate. I try hard not to vomit.
The guy pulls off his tie and slips his jacket off. The way he moves to the doorway and tosses them onto the sitting room floor like he dropped them out there in a hurry seems entirely strange. He appears in no hurry at all to hurt me. It’s as if he can’t conceive that someone might come at any moment and disturb him.
I recall housekeeping. Jack’s suit. They’ll return with it soon. I can make no sense of any of this. If only my head would clear a little.
“Seriously, doll, all jokes aside, don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt you.”
How long have I been here? I’m losing track of time. My mouth is drug-bitter, my tongue swollen like it’s growing too big for my mouth. I despair when he drags his shirt off and throws it across the sofa at the foot of the bed and disappears into the sitting room. He returns carrying the bottle of Champagne. I try to shut my eyes. I no longer want to see him but I haven’t even got that much control over my body. I hear him pour Champagne into the second glass and see he takes a gulp then remove something from his pocket which he tips into the liquid.
He observes my blank face. “Just a little top-up for insurance.”
He places the glass on the bedside table and moves in close. He heaves me into his arms so I’m flopped back across him with my back to his disgustingly naked chest. He forces another swallow of drugged Champagne down my unresisting throat.
He intends me to stay under. To do what? For how long? I can’t even sob.
“Doll, I’m gonna take your dress off now.”
Oh God, help me. Help me.
He pushes me so I flop forward like a rag and slides my zipper all the way down. He pushes the straps off my shoulders and lowers the top of the dress to my waist. I’m not wearing a bra and when he puts his meaty arm around me it brushes the undersides of my breasts. I feel the bile rising in my throat.