‘And what do I have, Henry? D’you want to give me a detailed inventory? Because I can only come up with the clothes I’m sitting in and a life full of shit, so if you can think of anything else I’d be really fucking grateful.’ There was enough venom in my voice to make Henry run a mile, but for once he stood his ground.
‘Do you want the truth?’ he asked. ‘You’ve got hope. You’ve got something – someone – in your life who’s managed to bring a smile to your face. And you know even better than I do that given the slightest opportunity, Blaine will use that to destroy you.’ He reached across the table, stopping an inch short of touching my hand. ‘Pull back, Finn. For both your sakes.’
‘I can take it.’
‘You might be able to. But can Lilith?’
And with that, the very last spark of enjoyment died. I wanted to argue through the night to prove him wrong, but we both knew he was right. And I was the only one who could do anything to fix it.
Chapter Seventeen
Lilith
Towards the end of her morning sitting, Blaine announced, ‘I have a request.’
The portrait was now as near to perfect as I ever got, but I was no nearer breaking through Blaine’s mask now than I had been on my first night at Albermarle Hall. I was used to seeing my work come alive on the canvas as I removed each layer that life had left on my sitter’s skin but day after day Blaine Albermarle stared out at me with that same impenetrable, perfect façade. My latest piece was beginning to scare me.
‘Have you heard of a gentleman named Royce Garvey?’ Blaine asked.
‘No.’ The name was vaguely familiar, but surly felt better.
As usual, Blaine didn’t rise. ‘He’s a television presenter – strictly highbrow, you’ll be pleased to know. He’s made some marvellous documentaries about the Roman Empire. Won all kinds of awards.’
‘I’m so very pleased for him. And this has what to do with me?’
‘He and his fiancée are guests at the Hall tonight – a birthday treat for her. He’s a huge fan of yours.’
Unease began to rise in my chest as though a horde of maggots squirmed there.
‘When Royce heard that you were staying on the island, he enquired about the possibility of meeting you, preferably over dinner. I should imagine he’d be perfectly content to spend the first hour of his evening chatting with you – just some gentle smalltalk to pander to his ego.’
‘No.’
She sighed. ‘I knew I might encounter a little resistance.’
I glanced up from my canvas. ‘I would say it’s a little outside my remit,
wouldn’t you?’
‘Absolutely,’ Blaine agreed, and I tensed. I had learned now that this reasonable tone signalled trouble. ‘As I said, it was merely a request.’
‘Good. Can you keep your head still for me, please?’
‘Of course. I’m sorry.’ Mannequin-still, Blaine continued, ‘However I’m sure Finn would be grateful for your involvement.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Royce is rather keen to impress his fiancée, by all accounts. Between you and me, I think he feels he needs to compensate for a significant age-gap and wants to provide her with a little excitement. He’s requested Finn for the entire night.’ She finally turned her head so that she looked directly at me. ‘Judging by certain information in his introductory letter, it would appear that your friend is in for a rather uncomfortable time. Of course, if you feel that this is ‘outside your remit’, I’ll just inform Finn that he’s starting a little earlier. I know how important your morals are to you.’ She stood, signalling the end of the sitting, and reached for her bathrobe. ‘However I can share with you that Royce has booked the dungeon as his room of choice.’
The line that was once so clear began to erode that little bit more under my bare feet and I knew I was damned whatever I decided.
Blaine hadn’t finished. ‘I’m sure Finn would understand. After all, he dealt so admirably with the after-effects of your other recent refusal.’
I was no longer so sure. Ten days had passed, but this was the first time that Blaine had alluded to the events of that evening; in fact, it was the first time anyone in the house had mentioned it – Finn included. He had hardly said a word to me beyond a curt ‘morning’ since.
I told myself, over and over, that it had not been a date. That we had both been stupid in flouting unwritten yet unbreakable rules, and lucky to emerge from that night with little more than hangovers and bloodied noses, and that Finn had done the right thing in pulling away. I cringed when I thought about what my clumsy, drunken pass in the boat must have done to his head, and most of all I tried my very best not to think of myself as anything so ridiculous as dumped.
Now Blaine brought everything flooding unbidden to the surface, and I realised that I could not shift Finn, with his newfound vulnerability and shared secrets, from my mind. Through my own stupidity, I had given myself the very worst of both worlds.
I picked up a cloth and carefully wiped away the excess paint from my brush before putting it to one side. ‘So Royce is asking for, what? My company and nothing else?’
‘Nothing at all. I believe that intellectual stimulation is just as important for my guests as any other service. Do I take this to mean he’ll meet my artist at dinner?’
I gave a mute nod, not trusting myself to speak.
‘Excellent.’ Blaine smiled with delight. ‘Thank you, Lilith. I’m sure it’ll be quite a surprise for Finn, too.’ She took a step towards the door, her mind already on the next stage of preparations for the evening, then paused. ‘Oh, and I don’t mean to be harsh, but might I suggest you take some time this afternoon to visit my hairdresser in the village? You’ll find she’s very discreet, and at the moment you hardly look like the Lilith Bresson that Royce will be expecting. And at dinner, please wear something that covers your arms. You and I might be aware that it’s eczema, but I don’t want our guests thinking it’s something contagious.’
*****
‘Doing something special tonight, are we?’
‘Something like that.’ I lay with my head over the hairdresser’s sink as she rinsed out conditioner that smelled of sherbet. I had been ushered into a plush private room in the salon the moment I arrived – the discretion that Blaine had promised – and was now half way through my transformation, back into the recognisable brand that was Lilith Bresson, Controversial Chat-Show-Host-Attacking Artist.
‘So, how long have you been at the Hall?’
I could tell her, down to the number of hours. ‘About three months.’
That surprised her. I supposed the resort staff were used to seeing people arrive for a single night, or a weekend at most.
‘Wow, really? It must really cost something to stay on the island for that long.’
‘You could say that.’
The hairdresser blushed, embarrassed at being caught thinking aloud. ‘I’m sorry – that was so rude of me. It’s none of my business.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I’m doing some work for Blaine.’
‘Lucky old you. Lady Albermarle’s amazing, isn’t she? I mean, all the things she does for the area – this whole place would be a wasteland without her. Do you know, when I first came to the village there was no nursery, so she donated this old barn and paid for absolutely everything – renovations, toys, even the wages for the first year, ‘til the funding came through. Both of my kids went there – we’d have had to travel miles into town without it. They’re at secondary now...’
I stopped listening to her describe a woman who didn’t exist. Her words flowed away with the water and as she began a complicated head massage all I could feel was despair. I shut my eyes and tried to listen to the new-age tinkling and whale song that passed for background music.
‘And as for that young man of hers...’
‘What?’ My eyes snapped open.
‘Oh, were you drifting off there? I was just saying, the boyfriend – that pretty youn
g man. We see him in the village from time to time, wandering around with not a care in the world. Maybe if I look half as good at her age, I could get one like that. What do you reckon?’
‘I don’t know...’
The hairdresser laughed at my struggle for a reply. ‘It’s all right love, you don’t have to answer that. Mind you, he’s really fallen on his feet, hasn’t he? I can’t imagine him wanting for much.’
Finn
‘Are you going to be much longer, darling?’ Blaine asked. ‘Our guests will be here in less than two hours.’
That was my direct order to stop what I was doing and start becoming whoever she needed me to be for this evening. I rubbed my hands together to loosen the ingrained soil and Bran instinctively crept behind my legs as Blaine cast an eye around the greenhouse.
‘I don’t know why you can’t keep your room as tidy as you keep this place,’ she said, like the irritated mother of a teenager.
I hated it when Blaine came here. I liked to maintain the illusion, however pathetic, that this was my territory, a space that was mine and mine only. I imagined row upon row of delicate seedlings shrivelling and dying in her shadow.
‘You know, you might find that tonight won’t be all bad.’ She stood behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist. ‘You might even find I’ve got a little surprise for you.’
I tensed under her embrace. Blaine’s idea of a ‘little surprise’ usually tended to result in my inability to sit down for a week.
‘Oh, stop that, silly. I’m sure you’ll like this one.’ Her hand crept to my balls, as natural an action for her as brushing a stray hair from her eyes. She gave a proprietorial squeeze. ‘And dinner jacket for tonight, please – it’s a real ‘dress to impress’ evening.’
I wasn’t allowed to see the letter, but Coyle had supplied me with some scant detail – not enough to give me any real information, but enough to trigger those first stirrings of dread: it was a particular skill of his. So I knew it was a couple, that they had pre-booked the dungeon, and without doubt that it wasn’t going to be fun. It also made one thing abundantly clear. As much as it hurt to admit it, Henry had been right. The further away Lilith was from this life, the safer she would be, both now and when she finally escaped.
I started doing the calculations in my head. If I took four temazepam as soon as I got to my room, I would be able to take another four just before I met my clients without collapsing face first into the soup.
Lilith
Somewhere beyond the horizon a storm was brewing. Although the sky was still clear, the faint whistle that escaped from my lungs every time I exhaled warned of the building pressure. Relief would only come once the storm broke; until then I would have to make do with my inhaler.
I stood behind the dining room door and prepared to make my entrance. I smoothed down the skirt of the dress I always chose when I needed a boost to my courage: the teal satin Dior that I had last worn when I went head-to-head with Johnny Buckle. Only this time, as per Blaine’s request, it was teamed with an Edwardian lace throw to hide the raw eczema that blighted my arms.
I straightened my back and walked into the room. The couple Blaine had hired me to entertain stood with their hostess, making the most of the sparse breeze that drifted through open patio doors.
‘And here’s my artist.’ Blaine gave her best Hollywood smile. She had opted for red-carpet glamour for the evening, and looked warmer and softer than she deserved in a caramel silk cocktail dress. She took my arm, patting it softly like a proud owner. ‘Lilith Bresson, may I introduce Royce Garvey, historian and documentary-maker, and his fiancée, Selena Clarke.’
‘Miss Bresson, can I just say I am a tremendous fan of your, ah... work.’ Royce took my proffered hand and raised it to his lips. He gave it an overly-moist, noisy kiss that left me with a wet hand and nowhere to wipe it. He straightened, and I realised he was only scant inches taller than I was. ‘I really do feel that in this repressed society, anyone who approaches sexuality in art with the... gleeful abandon that you do should be championed.’ He smoothed his greying comb-over neatly into place and devoured me with tiny eyes, half-hidden behind eyebrows that hadn’t been pruned for decades. ‘And may I just say you look absolutely...’ In lieu of words, he made a noise that was meant to be appreciative but would not have been out of place in an obscene phone call.
I wondered what the hell his manufactured young fiancée might think about such obvious leching so early in the proceedings, but I needn’t have worried: Selena’s own carnivorous gaze was firmly fixed on the beautiful, immaculately-groomed young man who had just made his customary entrance at the top of the stairs.
Finn, for his part, had eyes for no-one else but me. Confusion and betrayal scourged his features before he had chance to hide his shock, then I watched as he stepped faultlessly into the act that would carry him through the evening.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late, Blaine.’ He walked confidently over to our little group. ‘Damn bow tie threatened to get the better of me. I swear, you should be able to study for a degree in tying those things.’ Polite laughter formed the soundtrack as he kissed her on both cheeks, then turned to me with a fixed smile. His pupils were saucer-wide already. ‘Lilith,’ he nodded in my direction, and to me alone, his resentment was palpable.
Now it was Blaine’s turn to take charge of the proceedings. This was, after all, her business. The introductions were completed and she ushered us to the table. I sat on Royce’s left; Finn, as brittle as deadwood, took the seat next to Selena – much to her obvious delight – and our hostess went to the head of the table.
‘Selena, darling, you look absolutely stunning. Such an unusual dress,’ she said as she took her seat.
I watched with morbid fascination as yet one more supposedly intelligent adult melted under Blaine’s polished brand of bullshit flattery.
‘This? Oh, it’s from a little boutique in LA. Roycie had it designed for me when we were over there last autumn. He was picking up some award or other for his ‘Sex Lives of the Emperors’ doc.’ She had a piercing voice that needed conscious modulation to stop it becoming glass-breakingly shrill. Somewhere down the line, daddy had paid for hours of elocution lessons to get his little darling a few more steps up the social ladder.
‘What do you think, Lilith?’ Blaine asked me.
I already wanted to strangle Selena simply for shortening the perfectly adequate word, ‘documentary’, but that was beside the point; I was merely expected to contribute to this nauseating farce and try not to outshine the birthday girl. My task wasn’t made any easier by her choice of outfit. She wore a cantilevered , augmented-breast-skimming satin dress the colour of egg-yolk. Somewhere in deepest Nebraska, a prom queen two sizes smaller than Selena was wondering where the fuck her outfit had disappeared to. She wore her honey-toned hair piled high on her head, and even in candlelight I could see the hidden welds of hair-extensions.
Underneath the thin veneer of ostentatious glamour she looked absolutely appalling, but ‘What do you think, Lilith?’ was nothing to do with complimenting Selena, and everything to do with Blaine testing the extent of my compliance.
Finn
I waited for Lilith’s barbed rejoinder – for her to point out that Selena looked like she’d been fed into sausage-casing to fit into that dress, or that yellow was a poor choice of colour for someone whose skin-tone could best be described as ‘tangerine’.
It never came.
‘Very striking.’ Lilith gave a thin smile, and I wanted to howl at her; to take every piece of crystal and silver and heirloom china that adorned the table and hurl it to the floor before shaking her until reason returned. Instead I took refuge in silence and prayed for the temazepam to start killing my senses.
From her cowed, false words to her choice of outfit, the message couldn’t have been clearer: for whatever price, Lilith Bresson had finally been bought.
Lilith
Henry, professionally invisible, cleared away the d
ishes that contained the dying slush of a champagne sorbet amuse-bouche. I had come to adore Henry’s food, but in this instance I could have been eating cardboard as I obsessively scrutinized our guests. Royce had eaten like a rooting truffle-pig, and if I had been in the least hungry to start with, the eager snuffling sounds he made as he spooned the stuff into his already over-moist mouth would have killed my appetite for the next month or so.
Selena had that infuriating habit of ostentatious dieters that involved her sampling two mouthfuls before deliberately pushing the rest around the bowl to show that she would not be ingesting those remaining five calories, and I let my initial dislike bloom into unfettered, if well-hidden, hatred.
Finn had simply pushed his dish to one side the moment it arrived.
‘Do you mind if we...?’ Royce asked, and placed a tiny silver filigreed snuffbox on the table before fumbling in his top pocket and bringing out a matching miniature spoon. ‘Wouldn’t normally and all that, but it’s been rather a long day, what with all the travel. Would hate to be asleep before the, er... main course, so to speak.’
Blaine gave her mellifluous laugh. ‘Royce, as I explained when you booked – once you’re at Albermarle, you don’t need an excuse for anything. If you’d have requested it, I would have supplied my own.’
‘Ah. Marvellous. Lilith, would you care to...?’
I wondered if we would be playing ‘guess the rest of the sentence’ for the remainder of the evening.
‘No, thank you.’ The refusal came harder than I intended, and he gave an oddly childish pout.
‘Goodness. I didn’t take you for a puritan in such things.’
Blaine glanced at me and I knew I had been reined in. I forced an apologetic smile. ‘Don’t get me wrong – under normal circumstances, I’d be more than happy to join you. But I’m at a rather tricky stage with Blaine’s portrait. Morning-after juddering wouldn’t be a good idea right now.’
The Tied Man Page 19