by Suzy Shearer
“Oh, I understand perfectly. My father has given me a blank check as far as the wedding is concerned, and I want the best. I’m going to the south of France next week for a holiday. Will the designs be ready when I get back? It will be at the middle of August.”
“Yes. Today’s July seventeenth. There will be no problem completing them in time. I will have some sample fabrics, laces, and crystals for you to make your choice as well.”
“That’s wonderful. You’ll be able to make exactly what I want?” Her voice had a wobbled of concern.
“Of course.”
“Right, thank you. Will you design the bridesmaid dresses at the same time?”
“Yes, it makes more sense, that way you can see all the designs on the same day and make your decision.”
“Thank you, Miss Belle. I’m very excited to see what you come up with.”
“Can you see Miriam at the desk as you leave? Please book an appointment for when you return, and don’t forget to give her the wedding date as well.”
We all stood and shook hands. Charlie materialized from wherever he’d been hiding and escorted the party to Miriam, who would organize dates and take care of deposits. I started counting to twenty in my head but only got as far as fifteen when Charlie appeared at my side.
“Ooh, you sly dog!”
“Charlie!”
“Mr. Dark Hot Chocolate isn’t only some casual holiday hunk.”
“Enough.”
“No. Tell all.”
“I’m your boss.”
“Ha, big deal! You’re also my best friend so tell me, tell me.”
“Nothing to tell. I know John, that’s all.”
“Oh yes, I saw the way you ‘knew’”—he made air quotes before continuing—“him.”
“For goodness sake.”
“This is what you wouldn’t tell Justin and me. This is why you’ve been wandering around as if the world had come to an end these past two months, isn’t it?”
I sighed. He deserved the truth. “Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything, but I thought I’d never see him again.”
“Tell me all. When do you see him again? Is he coming in to see you here?”
I shook my head in surrender. “I’m seeing him tonight. He’s having dinner at my house.”
“Whoa. Wait ’til I tell Justin.”
“What? Why?”
“When was the last time you had a man over to cook for?”
“Never,” I mumbled.
“Exactly. Girlfriend, you’ve got it bad.”
“Oh for goodness sake, Charlie, can’t a woman go on a date?”
“Yes, but you rarely go on dates and now you have a mysterious and, if I may say, extremely sexy hunk of male coming to dinner. You can’t expect me not to share it with the love of my life.”
“Go away. Go and change the window or something.”
“That’s right, send the gay guy to dress the window.”
He turned, waved a hand in the air, and, in a very exaggerated fashion, minced off. I loved him to bits, but sometimes he could be such a bitch.
I had no idea how I made it through the rest of the day. I did leave at four. That way I could buy something on the way home to cook tonight. Charlie was laughing at me as I left and I knew exactly what he was thinking. Anyway, I called in to the local supermarket and picked up two chicken breast quarters and some real maple syrup. I’d decided to make maple-roasted chicken. Although I was a Buddhist and a vegetarian most times, occasionally I did eat meat. The same as I indulged in a glass of wine every now and again. The chicken was easy to prepare, simple to cook, and tasted divine. Plus, I wouldn’t be slaving over the stove. A selection of root vegetables to cook at the same time in the same pan and some nice fresh green beans. Perfect.
For dessert, I’d make Crème Brûlée. I’d only have to caramelize the tops at the last minute.
As soon as I got home, I quickly made the Brûlée and peeled the vegetables. Once I’d browned the chicken, I popped the veggies on the bottom and seasoned them. I put the browned meat on top and glazed it liberally with the maple syrup and fresh thyme from my tiny window-sill herb garden. I’d put the chicken in the oven around six-fifteen, and that way the food should be ready by seven.
Organized, I had a shower, overjoyed that I faced the pain and had the laser treatments. Then I stood in my bedroom in my black lace undies, trying to decide what to wear. It was mid-July, wintertime, and rather cold lately. I’d set the air conditioning on low in case things got a little exciting.
That got me thinking again. John and I had done an awful lot of necking, but never actually gone the whole hog. His injuries had prevented him. Now I wondered if things might progress further tonight. Then I remembered he had something serious he needed to tell me.
My mind ran the gamut of emotions. What the hell could it be?
I stopped worrying and in the end I put on a pair of jeans and a button-through top, dabbed some perfume on my wrists, a little eyeshadow, and gave up on trying to tame my hair. My attire was neat without being too casual. Right.
Table next. I quickly laid the table and made sure I had some wine in the fridge. After I checked the clock, my heart did this drop to my toes then raced to my head before settling back where it belong—it was six-twenty. I put the chicken in to cook and then I raced to the bathroom and cleaned my teeth again. Nuts…
I lived in an apartment complex. My two-bedroom unit was on the second floor and I hoped his leg was up to the stairs. The doorbell downstairs went and I buzzed him in. A few moments later, there was a tap at my door. I took a huge breath, slapped a smile on my face, and opened the door.
A huge bunch of flowers greeted me, and then the man himself poked his head around them.
“Hello, beautiful lady, these are for you.”
“Oh thank you. Come in.”
After burying my head in the flowers and taking a deep breath, I looked up. I stood aside for John to enter and led him down the hall into the family room. When I discovered the flowers were already in a vase, I filled it with water and put them on the kitchen counter. My family room, breakfast nook, and kitchen were all one large open-planned room. John waited until I’d put the vase down and came to my side. He reached out and his hands settled in a frame around my face.
“You are very beautiful and I’ve honestly missed you.”
Then he leaned in and kissed me. Oh boy, had I missed those kisses. I closed my eyes and let the sensation of his lips pressing against mine take over. After a second—or maybe it was an hour, he released my mouth. Neither of us spoke, we stared at each other. Inside, I prayed whatever he had to tell me wouldn’t be bad. I wanted him, and not just for sex.
In the short time I’d known him, what I had discovered I truly liked. I’d fallen that deeply in love and it would be impossible to climb out even if I wanted to.
“Come sit down.”
I led him to a long settee and sat beside him.
“This is a nice apartment.”
“Thanks. I bought it a few years back. I’d really love to have a house with a big yard, but at least it’s all mine. One day I hope to get something I actually want to have, but this is handy to the business.”
“That makes sense. I’ve lived in apartments too. This is the first time I’ve actually bought a house.”
“Have you been fishing yet?”
“Not yet. I’ve spent the past few months getting unpacked and sorted. Think I’ve finally reached the point where I can relax and start enjoying things.”
“How’s the leg? Your shoulder and stomach?”
“Stomach feels pretty good, now only the occasional twinge. My shoulder is improving. I’m actually getting a pretty good range of movement now and no pain. Means I can reel in those big fish when I catch them. My leg is still sore at times and I try not to overdo things. I’ve actually been going to a local physio and she’s helped me a lot.”
“Sounds a good idea,” I said, but at the
same time I was a little jealous of the physio. She’d been able to see him and I hadn’t.
“Yeah, it was. I’m glad I started sessions with her.”
I glanced at the clock. It was ten to seven, time to cook the beans and dish up.
“I’ll get dinner organized. Won’t be long.”
“Can I help?”
“It’s okay. You can sit and talk.”
John followed me into the kitchen, pulled out one of the stools at the counter, and sat. I quickly plunged the beans into hot water for a few minutes. While they were cooking, I got the chicken out and spooned a serving on each plate. After draining the beans, I tossed in some toasted almond slivers and put some on each plate.
“There’s wine in the fridge, help yourself.”
John stood and opened the refrigerator door. “What would you like?”
“Juice, thanks. Glasses are in the cupboard beside the fridge.”
John poured a wine, a Pinot Grigio for himself, and my juice. He followed me into the dining room and we sat. The conversation was light and casual. We mainly spoke about Rolly and the seal, and although the conversation was light and easy, there was a real undercurrent of tension. We both knew that some serious talking was coming up and it was invading the room. Finally, silence fell and John pushed back his seat.
“Maybe we should go back into the family room.”
Hearing those few words, I felt sick. I nodded, my hands sticky with perspiration. I rubbed them down my sides. We carried the dirty dishes out to the kitchen and I put them into the dishwasher.
“Tea?”
“Maybe we should talk first.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s sit.”
He patted the spot alongside him on the settee. I sat nervously. This very well might be the last time I saw him. He took my hand and glanced down at it. I held my breath as he raised his face.
“Remember you asked me if I’d been hurt in an accident and I agreed?”
I nodded.
“Shit. How to do this, where to start?”
He seemed as nervous as I was, and I could almost sense his fear matched mine.
“Right. I worked for the government, I told you that. What I didn’t tell you was the line of work I was in. It was um … how to explain? Um … peacekeeping and information gathering.”
I was baffled. “What, you sat in an office trying to find out stuff about people?”
“No, I worked in the field as an agent.”
“Agent?” All kinds of crazy thoughts went through my head. I gave a little laugh and said jokingly, “Like James Bond.”
“Yes, kind of like James Bond.”
I stared at him, stunned, and pulled my hand away. Shit.
“Anabelle, I’ve retired, honestly. My badge and gun have been handed in, never to be picked up again.”
“Badge? Gun? A spy? You were a spy?”‘
“Not actually a spy. I can’t tell you exactly what I did, but yes, I was an agent, a type of secret police officer.”
All I could think of were James Bond movies with him killing everyone in sight and blowing up things.
“You’ve killed people,” I whispered, disturbed.
He nodded.
Fuck!
“If it makes it any easier, they were not nice people. They were criminals, murderers, horrid people.”
I shook my head. I didn’t know what to think. All I knew was this gorgeous man in front of me was a killer. I started biting and sucking on the side of my index finger, something I did when I was really nervous. John purposely took my hand and pulled it away from my mouth. I kept my eyes downcast.
“Anabelle, I’ve never killed anyone in cold blood. It was always either their life or mine. I’ve always drawn the line at assassination.”
Assassinations? Oh my God!
All I could say over and over in my head was, he’s a killer! That was all I could think about. What he said a few moments ago simply didn’t get through. I had fixated on him killing.
He’s killed people. He’s a killer!
“Anabelle. Look at me.”
I raised my eyes, my heart racing.
“I was a type of policeman, an agent, but I was undercover most of the time.”
Suddenly, his injuries made sense. I’d always thought the scars seemed odd for a car accident. I realized he’d never actually said it was a car accident. He’d always skirted around when I mention them. I’d made a stupid assumption and now I understood what they truly were.
“You were shot.”
“Yes, I was. I was in hospital for four weeks, unconscious for the first two and a half.”
A tear was tracing its way down my cheek. I was so in love with him and now he was telling me he killed people for a living.
“Who did it?”
“I can’t tell you.”
I fell silent, trying to come to some sort of terms with what he was telling me. The words killer and assassinations kept rolling around my head. It didn’t make sense. I had no idea how much time passed until John took my hand again.
“Talk to me, Anabelle.”
“I don’t know if I can. You’re a professional killer.”
“No!” he said roughly. “Yes, I’ve killed people, but so have many policemen. I wasn’t purposely ordered to go out and find a certain person and shoot them down. My first directive was always to bring them in. I always tried to arrest them, tried to take them in and let them stand trial.”
I couldn’t find any words to say. John considered me sadly and let my hand go. I pulled it onto my knee.
“If I’d said I was only an ordinary policeman and sometimes people had shot at me and I’d had to shoot back, what would you think then? Would you think I was a professional killer?”
I realized if he’d said that, I would have been upset but I wouldn’t have thought of him as a murderer the way I was now. I shook my head.
“I could have never told you, Anabelle, but I wanted to be honest. I didn’t want any secrets between us. I know this is a shock and I know I’ve risked everything by telling you. Do you understand?”
I think I nodded as a few more tears made their way down my cheek, and I dropped my face to stare down at my hands in my lap. Round and round in my head all I could think of was, He’s a killer! A murderer! A hit man! “I’m sorry. I can see this isn’t what you want to hear.” His voice sounded as if he were breaking in two. “I’m … I’m honestly sorry because I think we could have been good together.”
I didn’t answer because I was sorting through things in my head. Trying to grasp what he was saying. Trying to see things from the point of view of a policeman, not a contract killer. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew he’d stood but I was still locked inside my head, my thoughts a chaotic jumble as I sorted through them, grasping at the sense of it all.
“Don’t get up. I’ll see myself out. I’m sorry. I wish we could have tried for something together. You would be so easy to love, hell, I already love you.”
I only half-listened as he walked from the room. But suddenly, I heard the front door open and loudly close.
Chapter Twelve
Anabelle
“John,” I whispered to myself as it sank in that he’d left the room.
Realizing he was walking out of my life forever, I raced to the front door, practically wrenching it off its hinges. I ran to the banister, peered over it and down into the stairwell. John had already reached the bottom of the stairs, about to open the entrance door and leave. I’d never see him again.
No! I couldn’t let this man I loved so dearly walk away.
I screamed his name, “John!”
He turned and stared up at me.
I mouthed, “John,” but no words came out as I tried to say his name again. I clung weakly to the banister as he began the climb to reach my side. I could see he used the handrail, dragging his leg slightly. What had I done? He reached me and stood, panting slightly.
“Don’t go,”
I whispered.
“Anabelle, are you sure?”
I was slightly insane at that moment because my reply caught me off guard.
“You haven’t had dessert.”
Fuck. Where the hell did that come from? That isn’t what I intended to say.
John laughed, a genuine belly laugh, and kissed the top of my head.
“In that case, I’d better stay.”
We went back inside. He was definitely limping. He sat back heavily on the settee and gave a little grimace as he tried to get comfortable. Me? I stood there like the idiot I was.
“I’m sorry. I’ve made your leg ache.”
Heaven, I couldn’t speak sensibly. John held his hand out and I took it. He pulled me down to sit alongside him again.
“Anabelle, forget my leg. Talk to me.”
I put my hands in my lap. Yes, he deserved that. He’d given me total honesty and for a while, I’d insulted and ignored him. He needed to know what was going on in my head. Where to start? How to say things? He didn’t pressure me to speak, allowing me to shift through my thoughts before I answered. Finally, I spoke.
“I only heard you admit to killing. Nothing else seemed to get through my head, even though I heard you. I kept thinking of Mafia hit men, James Bond, or something like that, stupid, I know.”
He took my hand again.
“I couldn’t see past it. I couldn’t see what you were trying to explain. To be honest, I only half-heard the last few things you said, I was trying to … to … um. Trying to make sense and put everything in perspective. I realize I did you an injustice calling you a professional killer. I can’t imagine you enjoyed any moment. I’m sorry.”
He smiled at me. Oh man, that smile, it hit every part of me and I basked in it.
“You don’t have to apologize for anything, Anabelle.” He put his free hand over his heart. “I know it must be hard to understand, to accept the things I’ve done, but I swear never, never did I kill someone in cold blood. It was always the last resort. It was either kill or be killed.
“I have to live with every death ’til the end of my life. It isn’t a burden I take lightly, and I regret every single one. Do you understand, Anabelle?” There was a little desperation in his voice.