by Simone Sinna
The response from Steve Prescott was, We can deal with it.
Both had been sent two days earlier. Before she had arrived. Yet Sienna was sure the “she” was her, or rather Mata Hari Elle. Was the “CC” in Steve’s diary not referring to copying anything, but actually Connell Crane? If so, what did they know, and who was double-crossing whom?
* * * *
In the end, though she would rather have gone anywhere other than the nightclub, she dragged herself back. She couldn’t afford to raise Connell’s suspicions any higher than they already were. She’d been gone twenty minutes, just short enough for him to swallow she’d been feeling woozy after the Harvey Wallbangers and had needed some air.
“Up to dancing?”
She felt like she’d rather do calculus homework but smiled and agreed. Was this acting, she wondered, or a descent into sadomasochism? This made her think of Steve and she felt even less like dancing. But Connell had already grabbed her and dragged her out, and at least she liked the music. The Killers. Some of the lyrics about betrayal touched a little close to home.
“Think I’m finished for the night,” she said at the end of the song. “Thanks for…”
“I’ll walk you back.”
Sienna sighed but didn’t have the energy to insist she could walk herself back. He probably wanted to lock her in and make sure she didn’t go anywhere else anyway.
They walked in silence and hovered at her door uncertainly. In the end Connell bent down and kissed her on the cheek and wished her good night. For reasons she couldn’t understand, she wished he’d kissed her properly and stayed the night.
Chapter Six
Lying in bed the next morning, grateful that Connell wasn’t banging on the door, Sienna decided two things. Firstly she was going to do some more searching on Connell and work out his connection with Steve. This meant checking out Harry to find out where he fitted in. The second was she was going back to High Towers. Just one night, to get Steve out of her system, to work out what it was he could open her eyes to and then, fully informed, be able to turn her back without regret. In her heart she knew she should settle down with someone like Connell. Well, maybe not Connell, but someone wholesome who was fun and didn’t have deep secrets. When she did that, she wanted to be able to say she was really, truly satisfied, and not taking second best or waiting for the real Mister Right to arrive.
The council offices were at the base of the mountain in Harrietville and Sienna headed down on the bus, escaping Connell before he could find something else to entertain her. She had rung ahead for an appointment and arrived early, so filled in her time at the library. There was a huge section on the region’s winter sports heroes. In the room devoted to photos and books, by year, it didn’t take long to find Connell. There were pictures of him holding cups and awards from what must have been about fifteen years ago. He had a cute gawky smile. In one he had his arm around a woman who barely came up to his shoulder, tons of black curly hair cascading over her shoulders. At first glance she wondered about a girlfriend, but looking closer Sienna could see the woman was older, with loads of makeup. Behind them both was an older man, beaming into the camera as if it was he that had picked up the award. She had to find the source article for the names. Connell Crane with his mother Tiffany. And the man was D.G. Jackovitch.
Jackovitch! He had known Connell then a long time. Sienna looked closer. The man had one hand on Connell’s shoulder, but the other was around Tiffany. Tiffany! The last name that Sienna would have thought his mother would be called. Sounded more from Elle’s world, in fact she was sure Elle had once had a run-in with a Tiffany or a Tansy or was it Crystal? Clearly DJ knew them well—just how well though?
Sienna looked more carefully through the other photos and ski club journals. Connell had to be thirty, so she figured he would be skiing from age five. The 1987 book didn’t mention him but the 1988 book did. He was on a list of ski club participants in a charity event and while there was no picture of him, there was of Tiffany and Richard Crane, his parents, who hosted the event at their lodge, Icebreaker. There were three others, two men and a woman, also in the photo. Amusingly one was a much thinner Harry Jenkins, the woman his wife, and the man someone called Vladimir Sergeiveitch Grekov. What was it with Russians and names that went on forever? So ten years later, Jackovitch was in the photo and no Richard Crane. Given Richard looked like an elegant version of his son and DJ resembled mankind’s ancestors, Sienna had grave doubts about Tiffany’s taste.
She looked at her watch. Time to tackle Sam, oops Harry.
Harry looked delighted to see her. “Elle my dear, a pleasure.” He looked slightly awkward and added, “The other night you should have introduced yourself, I mistook you for…never mind.” He beamed, hand wiping down the hair that he had combed over his bald patch. Thinking of his photo twenty-five years earlier, he was a walking advertisement for it being better to die young. Not that he’d been beautiful then, but time and inertia weren’t helping him much.
Sienna drummed up her sweetest most innocent smile. Might not work with Steve, but it had Harry rushing to get her a drink.
“So how can I help you, my dear?” asked Harry, mopping his brow. It wasn’t, thought Sienna, that hot. Seemed Harry thought she was dangerous, too. She suppressed an urge to giggle. This was kind of fun, even if she was swimming around in the dark. She channeled a character she’d once played in an amateur theatre production, Sylvia, the femme fatale who had bumped off her husband, with help of course.
“Now, Harry,” she said, easing back in her chair and taking a sip of a rather nice drop of Brown Brothers red, “there’s this little matter of Steve’s building application for his club.”
Harry, she thought, had been ready for this. He smiled. “You can assure DJ it’s all in hand,” he said with confidence.
“Which means…?” murmured Sienna.
“I can tie it up forever,” said Harry. “Tell DJ it’ll be much harder to deal with High Towers, but there won’t be any club at Hotham any time soon.”
“Mmm.” This didn’t actually tell her very much.
“So DJ will still keep our arrangement?” Harry was mopping again. This was the crunch. Something else was at stake. Sienna let loose her inner Sylvia.
“You know, Harry,” she said, “DJ just isn’t a man to cross.”
“Oh I wouldn’t ever,” said Harry hurriedly. “The boys know nothing, or at least not from me.”
The boys? Steve and Connell? If so was Connell really with Steve or playing the double agent working for DJ? Or was he working for himself?
“DJ is pretty sure they know something,” said Sienna, amazed at how calm she was feeling.
“Tell him it was all a long time ago,” said Harry starting to sound very edgy. “A quarter of a bloody century. No one found anything then and they won’t now.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Harry. Just keep it that way,” Sienna replied, standing up. “Thanks for the drink.”
* * * *
Steve was experiencing something he hadn’t felt for a long time and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Hell, he was thirty-four and he didn’t fall for women, they fell for him. But he couldn’t get her out of his head. She hadn’t called or turned up the previous day, after leaving without saying good-bye, leaving him totally uncertain. Had he scared her off or was she playing hard to get? He was sure she’d enjoyed it, been careful not to push his preferences when she had admitted to being new to the scene. Normally he was bored teaching new girls the ropes, but in Sienna’s case he couldn’t wait. He sensed, was sure, she would come to love sex his way, and he was happy to take his time. A first for him in many, many years.
But what to do? Track her down? It wouldn’t be hard, though he could hardly believe he didn’t have her cell number. Or should he wait? She had said she was only staying a week, so he didn’t have that long. Sighing, he called Lindsay to get transport organized.
* * * *
Sienna looked long and h
ard at the numbers list she’d got from Connell’s computer. They had to be passwords. Five in all. Some had letters, some didn’t. The one that interested her most was the strangest and didn’t quite fit the usual variations of passwords asked for, the eight digits including capitals and to include numbers and such.
3L424R631L21
She supposed there was no reason this couldn’t be a standard computer access code, eight characters was usually the minimum, not maximum. But it was hardly easy to remember and computers needed to be used daily. The pattern intrigued her, too. Letters followed by three numbers twice and then only two. Why the first number? And why only two letters, L and R? Her eyes widened. Left and Right. Three times around left to forty-two then four times right to sixty-three, one turn left to twenty-one? It was the safe combination.
Connell was under the impression she had been with Jean-Claude all morning and was taking her to lunch. She checked the map out and saw the lunch venue was at the other end of the Hotham strip from Snow City. Excellent. She texted him to say she was already down that end and would meet him there, then waited around the corner from his office until he left. Key in hand she slipped inside. She had already decided where the safe would be. The man was disorganized and messy and, unlike Steve, it didn’t look like subterfuge came easy. If the safe was there, it would be obvious.
She was right. It was behind the picture of the 2006 Olympic team she now recognized him in. Some people just had no imagination. Hands shaking, she consulted her piece of paper and turned the dial left and right as indicated, stopping it at the designated number. Holding her breath she waited for the click and sure enough, it opened.
It was quite a big safe, but she was pleased to see it didn’t hold any money. If it had and anyone had walked in on her, she would have been in serious trouble. Not that this would look good. But at least it was all papers. She went straight to the folder that looked like the one in Steve’s office and sure enough, in it, was a file with a report by the intrepid Kim Story.
Sienna took her tiny camera, one of the few tools she had invested in, and quickly photographed all ten pages. She closed the folder, careful to replace it exactly where it had been, closed the safe, replaced the picture and returned the key. Now she just had to think up an excuse for being late to see Connell.
* * * *
Steve intended to head to Snow City and ask Connell if a Sienna Martin was staying there, but never got that far. When Lindsay was dropping him off at the café, he saw Sienna get on the bus heading towards Dinner Plains. He had Lindsay turn the car around and they followed her. She got off at the edge of the Hotham precinct and ran into the restaurant. Could he interrupt her lunch, say hi, and whisper in her ear he was looking forward to seeing her tonight? He grinned. Why not? It wasn’t like there was anyone on the mountain who could hold a candle to him when it came to drawing women. He asked Lindsay to wait.
Sienna never saw him though, because as Steve stood in the door he saw Connell stand up, eyes for no one else other than Sienna. Fuck. Of all people, why did it have to be Connell?
* * * *
Lunch with Connell was, as she was coming to expect, fun. She was feeling so guilty about investigating him, though, it was hard to relax. Conning a sleaze like Harry was one thing, but she liked Connell. A lot. Still, it seemed he was up to his neck in this whole business, too, so she reminded herself to reserve judgment. It would be better if he was a crook, all things considered. She liked Steve way too much as well, and this level of complication in her life she didn’t need.
He took her skiing again in the afternoon, the blue skies and sunshine threatening to end the early promising start to the season with snow dripping rapidly off all the rooftops.
Connell grinned. “Enjoy today, because weather is about to change. Sometime tomorrow we’re in for storms until the end of the week.”
So Sienna did enjoy it, thinking it might be her last day on the slopes as end of the week meant returning to Melbourne. She was pleased at her increased proficiency, but then she did have an Olympic skier teaching her!
“I saw your photo in the Australian team,” she said to him on the chair lift. “It must have been…tough.”
Connell looked at her in surprise. “At the time I thought my life was over,” he said, sounding quite neutral. “But in the end it was only a sport, and as you see I can still ski, just not compete.”
“Do you miss it?”
“I would have had to give it up sometime, and I just consider myself enormously lucky to have been able to represent my country. Not many people get to do that, and while I’d have liked to bring a medal home for Australia, with the exception of aerial skiing and snowboarding, we’re a way behind the rest of the world. Besides, traveling constantly was pretty wearing.”
“So what drives you now?”
A look crossed his face she couldn’t read.
“Having a good time,” he said, but she knew he was lying.
* * * *
Sienna told Connell she was exhausted and while it was true, that wasn’t going to stop her going to High Towers. She spent an hour getting ready, eventually opting for the red dress with a slit almost to the waist, that was held together almost in one spot by a black clasp. The thought of Steve undoing it sent butterflies around her stomach. She’d had a quick look at her photos but needed a computer screen to enlarge them so they would have to wait until tomorrow. It wasn’t something she could do in Snow City lounge.
It was nine p.m. before she reached her destination and she knocked nervously. Lindsay answered the door and looked surprised.
“Good evening. Was Mister Prescott expecting you?”
Had she misread him? This wasn’t going according to plan. She was after all ridiculously innocent in Steve Prescott’s world. Was she about to make a complete idiot of herself?
“Not exactly.” Sienna was standing in the doorway and she could hear soft murmuring of at least several voices. Her heart sank. Whatever had she been thinking? He would be with someone else, of course, after she had left without saying anything, and had made no contact.
“Come in, my dear,” said Lindsay politely. “I will get you a drink and let Mister Prescott know.” He took her coat and she felt suddenly half naked. She needed to find her inner Sylvia. Deep breath, okay, bring it on. She was not going to let him think she was desperate for him nor was going to let him use her as a plaything.
Glass of champagne—French she noted—in hand, Sienna wandered the main two downstairs rooms, looking at the prints on the walls. In one room they were all Japanese, elegantly framed black and white drawings. It was only at a closer look she saw they were all very sexually explicit. In the other room the pictures were more colorful and ribald, something between Chaucer and Marquis de Sade.
“Fifteenth century originals,” said Steve coolly behind her.
Sienna steeled herself to turn slowly, smile carefully in place. “I would expect nothing less,” she said.
Steve raised an eyebrow. “You left rather precipitously the other…day.”
Sienna bit her lip. Come on, Sylvia, don’t desert me now. “No one but no one should see me in the morning before coffee and make up,” she said. Not that she wore makeup, but she was sure it would have been what Sylvia, or come to think of it, Elle, would have said.
Steve looked disengaged. Shit. Oh fuck, Sylvia.
“Actually,” said Sienna, not looking at him. “I was scared shitless.”
She felt him stir, and when she dared look up he was staring at her as though she was some strange species he had never before come across.
“So,” he said, sounding somewhat strangled. “Why did you come back?”
“To find out if, if…”
“If what?” Steve whispered in her ear and she could feel his breath, smell his sheer maleness and if she was struggling to talk before, then now she was struck mute.
She looked at him and her eyes said it for her. Whatever you have on offer.
&nbs
p; “Are you sure?” His hand was lightly on her arm now, and tingles were traveling all over her.
“No,” she whispered. “Only that I’m prepared to give it a try. Once at least.”
Steve looked for a moment torn, but he made up his mind quickly.
“Come.”
* * * *
Steve couldn’t believe she’d returned. He convinced himself he had scared her off and that she gone running to the more wholesome charms of Connell. Not that this was exactly how he thought of Connell, but he knew most women did, and it wasn’t as if any of them knew him as well as Steve did. He didn’t want to get in the way of any romance Connell might have been entertaining, but maybe he’d misread the whole thing. After all, according to Connell his whole time was pretty much spent keeping Elle O’Grady, whom he had yet to meet, away from trouble.
She looked, he thought, totally delectable. She was shapely in all the right spots and her half innocence, half defiance was drawing him like a magnet. Her attempts to be worldly were actually kind of cute, though he wished she wouldn’t bother. He liked her just the way she was.
He would take her slowly, monitor her, not risk scaring her. But god he wanted her, and for more than just this week. He wondered if he could offer her a job to keep her up here? But that could wait until later.
Instead of taking her to his bedroom he took her to another room in his private wing on the ground floor that had a sunken bed and sunken spa, full of warm gently bubbling water that smelt of lilac and spice. Next to the bed was a small table and an ice bucket with champagne and glasses. He saw her eyes widening, and he stood behind her, arms on hers, pulling her against him, firm but without force.
“There are rules,” he said slowly. “My house rules. Ones specific…for my sub.”