by Amy Cross
I swallow hard, determined not to let Mr. Marchant see that I am slowly being enveloped by a sense of true terror and panic. "Might I ask what makes you think I know your daughter?" I ask. "Perhaps if you tell me the cause of this illusion, I can help allay your fears?"
"Information has been handed to me," he says sternly. "The information was provided on an anonymous basis by someone who clearly believes I have the right to know my daughter's whereabouts. I am not willing to go into the precise nature of that information, but I have reason to believe that it is accurate and that the source is merely concerned with the well-being of my family. Therefore, I must ask you one more time, Mr. Lockhart. Where is my daughter, and will you return her to me at once?"
"I do not know where your daughter is," I say, "and therefore I cannot help you".
He gets to his feet. "Then, Sir, you are a fool," he says. "You think you can sit behind your desk and hide from the responsibilities of your actions, but you most certainly cannot. This matter will be going to the highest authorities in the land, and I will see you rot if you have laid but one finger on my girl. However, I am a generous man and I understand that it might take time for you to recognize the need to do the right thing. I will give you until midnight tomorrow to deliver my daughter back to my household, or you must face the consequences". He turns and walks to the door, before stopping and glancing back at me. "You know who I am, Mr. Lockhart. You know I have power in this land. Do you really think you can withstand this onslaught? I will have Sophia back, one way or another". With that, he walks out and I'm left alone in the room, with just one thought going around and around in my mind.
Lady Red...
This is Lady Red's doing.
She is the only person who could have orchestrated this situation; she is the only person who would want to cause so much trouble, and who would dare to go to such extreme lengths in order to place me under such extreme pressure. I find it a little hard to believe that she would take such a huge risk, since there is a danger that Mr. Marchant's attention will result in the entire game becoming known to the public, but clearly Lady Red feels that the high stakes are worth such a gamble. As I sit here in my study, feeling the noose tightening around my neck, I try to work out what to do. If I run, I will confirm my guilt. If I stand and fight, I risk being crushed by Mr. Marchant's determination to uncover the truth about his daughter. Perhaps my only option, then, is to turn against Lady Red and seek to save my own skin. However, I know that she will have planned ahead for my every possible move, and I realize that I have been comprehensively outmaneuvered. Finally, after all these years, the net is closing around me. After a moment, I grab my waste-paper basket and vomit, unable to contain my nerves any longer.
Eight
Today
Determined not to stare at Mark, I give him a polite smile and then look away. My heart is racing, and I'm tempted to just hurry on and wait at the next bus stop, but I figure that would look a little strange so I decide to stay put. Trying to calm down, I force myself to stare at the traffic rather than turning to look back at Mark, but it's too tempting and eventually I glance back. This time, he's not looking at me, and I see that he's having dinner with the same slutty-looking woman who was in his car earlier. It doesn't look like they're having much fun, either, since they seem to be sitting in silence as they eat. After a moment, Mark glances over at me and we briefly make eye contact again before I turn away.
Unfortunately, ten minutes later, there's still no sign of the bus and I'm starting to wonder if I'm ever going to get home. It's a real effort to keep from looking over at Mark, but I force myself to keep my back to the window. Eventually, however, I hear the sound of a woman shouting nearby. Without thinking, I look around and see that Mark and his date have emerged from the restaurant, and they're arguing. Well, she's arguing and he's looking pissed off.
"You have no idea what you're talking about," she says, turning to him. "What the fuck do you know about the cosmetics industry? It's a hell of an opportunity and you're just gonna let it fly right by just because you can't take some goddamn fucking advice from someone who lives and breathes this stuff!"
I can't help smiling at the woman's sense of self-importance, not to mention her whiny voice.
Mark looks extremely uncomfortable. "I didn't say that I was going to -"
"You said you wouldn't invest!" she shouts. "Those were your words! If you don't invest, that means you don't think the business is going to work, which means you don't have any faith in me!" She pauses, staring angrily at him. "What else am I supposed to think, Mark? If you believe in something, you back it properly. Clearly that's not something you're interested in!"
I try to stifle my laughter. This woman is fucking ridiculous, tottering on her six-inch heels.
"I don't want to discuss this right now," he says, glancing briefly at me before looking back at the woman. "Let's just go to my place," he continues, "and we can talk about it properly". He glances over at me, sees that I'm laughing, and breaks into a smile himself.
"What are you laughing at?" the woman shouts, before looking over at me. I see the look of confusion in her eyes give way to recognition. "You think this is funny?" she shouts at me.
I turn away, keen not to get dragged into the fuss.
"Let's talk about this in private," Mark says.
"No fucking way!" she says. Alarmed, I realize she's coming closer to me, and I look over just as she leans right in my face. "Are you laughing at me, bitch?" she sneers.
I shake my head, shocked at how aggressive and hyped-up she's being.
"I don't take shit from some little-titted guppy!" she screams, looking at me with total disgust. "I've seen the way you look at him. Well keep on creaming your knickers, slut, 'cause that's as far as you're gonna get!" She narrows her eyes for a moment, before turning and stomping back toward Mark. "Have fun with your new girlfriend!" she shouts at him, before walking away.
I turn and look at the traffic. This is certainly turning into an interesting night, but I kind of want the bus to turn up so I can get home.
"I'm sorry about that," Mark says.
I turn to find that he's walked over to me. "It's fine," I say, smiling. "She seems... nice..."
"It's a complicated situation," he replies. He looks up at the display above the bus stop, which notes that the bus is delayed. "If you've been waiting for a while -" he starts to say.
"Mark!" the woman shouts, having apparently changed her mind and come wandering back in our direction. "What are you doing talking to her?" She stands there, waiting for an answer. "Well forget about these!" she screams suddenly, squeezing her ample bosom together to accentuate her cleavage before turning and storming away again.
"Do you want a lift home?" Mark asks.
"Won't your girlfriend mind?" I ask.
"She's not my girlfriend," he says. "Well, not anymore". He glances along the pavement. "We should probably get going before she comes back. Do you want that lift or not?"
"Sure," I say, and we start walking away from the bus stop. Mark keeps looking over his shoulder, as if he's worried that his date will come running after us at any moment.
"I'm sorry about that," he says eventually.
"Don't be," I say. "It's kind of good to know that even billionaires can have crappy nights".
He smiles. "I'm glad my discomfort was able to bring you a little cheer". We walk on in silence for a moment, as the bustle of the city rushes around us. "So what have you been doing with your evening?" he asks. "What are the kids up to these days?"
"Kids?" I say.
"Sorry," he replies. "Young ladies".
"I'm twenty-one," I tell him. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-four," he admits.
"Three years' difference," I point out. "That's nothing. What makes you think I'm a kid?"
"I apologize," he says. "Still, I get the feeling we live in very different worlds. I definitely haven't ever been to see a friend's band at a pub. Maybe I'm miss
ing out".
"You're not," I reply. "You're really not". It's pretty clear that Mark and I exist in very, very different worlds. The things I get up to would probably shock him, and I guess I'd be totally out of my depth in his life. At the same time, I can't shake this feeling that we have some kind of connection, and I think he's noticed the same thing; after all, he seems to like talking to me, and fate seems to be throwing us together quite a lot. We've met three times in a couple of days, and instead of pushing us apart, our differences seem to be pulling us together. What's more, he basically let his date walk away so he could give me a lift home. That's got to mean something...
"So now you're just wandering the streets of London on your way home?" he asks.
"It's complicated," I say, deciding it's probably best not to tell him what I did after the gig. I'm sure he'd think I'm a total slut if I explained that I just lost my virginity in an alley down the side of the pub, with the band's lead singer. Damn it, I think I'm a bit of a slut. In some ways, I'm glad it's over and done with, but at the same time I keep thinking that maybe I should have hung on a little longer and waited for someone I actually like. Someone like Mark, perhaps.
"Good complicated or bad complicated?" he asks.
"I don't know yet," I reply.
"Oh," he says. "Sounds very complicated". We reach his car and he pulls his keys from his pocket, pressing a button to unlock the doors.
"Explain something to me," I say as he walks around to the driver's side. "You're a billionaire, and yet you're driving yourself around the city instead of having a chauffeur. You're a billionaire, and yet you were just eating in a little restaurant in the middle of Southfields". I pause for a moment. "You're a billionaire, and you've got nothing better to be doing right now than standing here, talking to me".
"Apparently so," he says with a smile. "I guess I'm a total loser".
Once we're in the car, he starts the engine and eases the car out into the London traffic. I feel kind of over-whelmed, like I'm supposed to say something funny or meaningful but the words won't come to me. I guess I like the fact that, at this specific moment, I'm enjoying being with Mark, and I'm worried that anything I say might end the spell and bring me back down to earth. It's as if we're in a bubble, and it could pop at any moment.
"You're suddenly very quiet," Mark says, glancing over at me. "Is something wrong?"
"No," I say. "I'm just..." I pause, realizing I can't tell him the truth.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he continues. "If there's a problem -"
"There's not," I say firmly. "It's just that I did something stupid tonight, and I guess it's gonna take me a while to work out how I feel about it".
"Oh," he says. "Something stupid but reversible, or something stupid and permanent?"
"Both," I reply, shuddering at the memory of Rob's thrusting, groping love-making. What the hell was I thinking? There's no way I should have let any of that happen. My first time should have been special, but instead it was a rushed, fumbled and very uncomfortable coming-together in a dingy alley. I can't help but remember the feeling of his medium-sized penis slipping inside my vagina, with the cold condom between his skin and mine. Thinking about it now, my skin is crawling.
"Whatever happened," Mark says, "I'm sure you'll find a way to get past it. You seem like a very strong person".
I stare at him for a moment. "That's the second time someone's said that to me today," I tell him. "Not that I believe it, but still... It's nice to know I'm good at faking it".
"Why do you think you're faking it?" he asks.
"Because I don't feel strong," I tell him.
"Most strong people don't feel it," he says. "Trust me. All the strong people I've ever known have been scared and confused, but they got on with things anyway. The ones who thought they were strong, were just delusional. They pushed ahead and did stupid things, and most of the time they made huge mistakes. So don't worry about it too much". He smiles. "Sorry, I just realized I sound like some kind of old man, giving you a bunch of pointless advice. Trust me; I don't know anything about life".
"Hence the fact that you're here right now," I point out.
"You know -" Mark starts to say, but at that moment his phone starts to ring. He reaches out and presses a button on the dashboard. "Mark Douglas," he says as he slips a small device over his ear. "No, I'm not," he says after a moment. "Is it important?" He pauses. "Okay, I'll be there. I'll drop her off somewhere. Call White". With that, the call seems to be over and he pauses for a moment, seemingly a little annoyed. "I'm afraid I have to go somewhere," he explains, "so if it's okay with you, I'll drop you at Southfields station. You can get a taxi home. Is that a problem?"
"Not at all," I reply, secretly a little disappointed. I'd been kind of looking forward to sitting in the car outside my mother's house, saying goodnight to Mark and maybe - just maybe - seeing if he might try to kiss me. Instead, I see Southfields station ahead, and I realize I'm going to be traipsing home alone as planned. Damn it, why did I allow myself to hope that something else might happen with Mark? How deluded and stupid can I be?
"I'm really very sorry," Mark says as he pulls up at the side of the road. "Unfortunately, certain other matters demand my full attention. I'd love to make it up to you -"
"No need," I say. "Thanks anyway".
"Wait," he says, leaning over and putting his hand on mine as I reach for the handle. There's an awkward pause, and then he leans closer and kisses me delicately. As soon as our lips touch, I feel a shiver run through my body. "I'm sorry," he says finally, pulling away just as I'm about to put my hand on his shoulder.
"Why are you sorry?" I ask, leaning in to kiss him again.
"Forget it," he says, opening the door and getting out of the car.
"Forget it?" I say, getting out and watching as Mark walks over to a taxi driver. Suddenly it seems like he can't get rid of me soon enough.
"I shouldn't have done it," Mark continues once he's given the driver some money and come back over to me. "Please put it out of your mind, and rest assured that I will never, ever make any further advances". He pauses. "I've paid this gentleman to take you home".
"You didn't have to do that," I say. "I can get a train".
"It's the least I can do," he replies.
"Maybe you..." I pause for a moment. "You can do it again if you want".
"No," he replies firmly. It's almost as if he's suddenly become a completely different person. "It would be a mistake. I'm not... You need someone different. I'd only cause problems for you".
"What makes you say that?" I ask, desperate to keep this moment going a little longer.
"It's just how things go with me," he replies. "I wouldn't be good for you. I'd mess you up. You have no idea how complicated my life can be, and I'd hate to drag you into it". He pauses. "Trust me; you can't even begin to understand what happens to people around me".
I open my mouth to argue with him, but then I realize that there's no point. I guess maybe the kiss wasn't very good for him. I turn and start walking toward the station.
"Elly!" he calls after me. "The taxi's waiting for you! Elly!"
I don't reply. I don't even give him the satisfaction of looking back. Instead, I walk away and head into the station, quickly buying a ticket from the machine before walking down to the platform. In some strange, crazy way, I feel more humiliated by the way Mark brushed me off, than by all the stuff that happened with Rob. After being mostly ignored by guys for the past few years, suddenly I've been busier than a town whore when the fleet comes in, and I don't feel very good about myself. I thought I'd be happy once I'd lost my virginity, but it's as if I've just allowed everything to run out of control. Sitting on a bench while I wait for the train to arrive, I take a deep breath and decide the best thing to do is just go home, go to sleep and hope I can forget all about this nightmare of an evening.
Nine
1895
"You seem distracted," Elizabeth says as we lay in my bed. She pre
sses her naked body against mine, and runs her hand across my bare chest. "I do not wish to seem inopportune," she continues, "but perhaps it would ease your burden to discuss the matter?"
I turn to her. Does she seriously believe that I would seek her counsel on a matter of great importance? "No," I say. "There is nothing, really". In truth, though, I feel as if I am paralyzed with fear. It has been two days since Mr. Marchant came to my home, and we have now passed the deadline by which he demanded to have his daughter returned to him. Whatever his intentions now, I fear he will have set in motion of chain of events that I will struggle to manage. The world is finally closing in on me, and yet I remain here, unable to turn and run. I am like an animal, caught in the spotlight and panicked to such an extent that it knows not whether to run or fight.
"Perhaps I can distract you?" Elizabeth says, reaching down and taking my flaccid penis in her hand. She starts to gently rub her finger against the tip, and I feel myself starting to get harder. "I hate to see you with such a pained expression on your face, Edward," she whispers, continuing to stroke me. "Surely a man in your position need not have so many worries?" After a moment, she moves down under the bed-sheets and takes the tip of my penis in her mouth. I stare at the ceiling, trying to enjoy the sensation but unable to stop thinking about the situation with Mr. Marchant. I feel completely helpless, as if the world is closing in on me and I am powerless to act.
Wherever she is right now, I am quite certain that Lady Red is enjoying my predicament. I have no idea how she has managed to insulate the rest of the game from my downfall, but I'm sure she will have made sure that even as I am led to the gallows, she and Mr. White will be engaged in the process of picking the next Mr. Blue. I cannot help but wonder if this is how the previous Mr. Blue felt as his role in the game came to an end.
"My darling," Elizabeth says, moving back up the bed, "you must tell me what is causing you such difficulty".