by Susan Lewis
‘Did you go to the office today?’ he asked, relaxing a little as he saw the cranberry juice and triple sec going into the shaker.
She nodded, and licked the juice off her fingers. ‘Yes. Rose wasn’t there though,’ she said, referring to her partner. ‘She’s been invited to Baghdad by an Iraqi family who have a story to tell – don’t ask me what exactly, because I don’t know yet – so she’s out there now, and won’t be back for at least a month. She left the cuttings for the last programme though. We had some great reviews.’
‘I’ve seen them. Congratulations.’
She smiled. As a documentary film-maker with her own small production company, based just along the river in Limehouse, she’d recently made a programme exposing the plight of a group of Indian women who’d been smuggled into the country and forced into prostitution. It had aired while they were away so she was only now catching up with the response.
‘What about you?’ she said, after shaking the drink and filling two Martini glasses. ‘Did you go to your office today?’
‘Not difficult,’ he responded, with no little irony, for he was currently staying in the small studio flat attached to his Canary Wharf office, which he and his research team used for grabbing catnaps when they were on particularly long shifts.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Sorry. So how is it? Are you comfortable enough there?’
‘It’s OK for the time being. I should probably start looking around for somewhere to rent though.’
‘You can always come back here, and I’ll go to stay with Rhona,’ she offered.
He shook his head. Returning was an option he’d only accept if she were going to be here too. ‘This place is yours as much as mine,’ he told her, ‘and I’m the one who screwed up, so it’s only right that you should keep your home.’
‘Hair shirts don’t really suit you,’ she told him, ‘but I won’t argue,’ and bringing the drinks round she handed one to him. ‘What shall we drink to?’ she asked, looking up into his eyes.
‘Forgiveness?’
She smiled and nodded. ‘OK. To forgiveness.’
They touched glasses and drank. They were standing very close, and when she lowered her glass he so badly wanted to kiss her it was almost impossible not to, but this was the first time, since their return, that he’d come to the apartment, and he didn’t yet know the rules.
‘I love you,’ he murmured, remembering the passion with which they’d made love while in Bali, and wondering if it was as hard for her to hold back now as it was for him.
Her eyes remained on his as she lifted a hand to his cheek. ‘I love you too,’ she said, as he kissed her palm, ‘I just wonder if it’s enough.’
Having no answer to that, he watched her go to curl up on one of the large downy cushions scattered between the sofa and coffee table.
‘You can sit down too,’ she said with a playful light in her eyes.
Attempting to reflect her humour, he sat on the chair that was close enough for him to touch the soft silkiness of her hair, but though he wanted to, he didn’t. ‘Are we going out to eat?’ he asked.
‘I thought we’d stay in,’ she answered. ‘I bought some salmon steaks, we could make a salad.’
He nodded. Why couldn’t he focus his mind on anything but the image of her suntanned and naked in Bali, lying beneath him, sitting astride him, her face clouded with lust, her passion urging him to heights he’d rarely reached with anyone else. He wanted her now, though he understood it was not being able to have her that was making the need so much more intense.
She looked up at him and as she began to talk about other things, he fought the urge to tell her again how sorry he was. He still didn’t fully understand what had compelled him to hurt her the way he had. It had to have been some kind of aberration, for now the mere thought of Andraya Sorrantos, the Brazilian artist he’d been unable to resist, filled him with dismay and even a degree of revulsion.
‘And what will you do, now we’re back?’ she was asking. ‘Are you going to continue with your memoirs?’
His heart sank. ‘I guess so,’ he answered, ‘but this enforced sabbatical is half killing me now. With so much going on, the insanity in Iraq, the intelligence scandals, the wall through Palestine … I should never have agreed to keep silent about the Phraxos dealings, or let them force me into taking this time out.’
‘You did it to save a lot of people’s lives,’ she reminded him. ‘If you’d gone public with your findings, and that giant conglomerate had gone under, we’d still be feeling the repercussions now.’
‘Aren’t we anyway, if you consider how many people have died in Afghanistan and Iraq since I was paid for my silence? As the world’s biggest defence investor, the Phraxos Group is cleaning up thanks to these wars, and what makes me sick to my stomach is that I know they’re involved in writing the war plan.’ He shook his head and took a sip of his drink. ‘This is a bad time we’re living in,’ he said, ‘and if they go into Syria, or Iran …’ He looked round as the phone started to ring, and felt annoyed that she reached behind her to answer it.
‘Hello?’ she said into the receiver. ‘Oh hi, how are you? Yes, we got back two days ago. We had a lovely time, thank you.’ She turned away and spoke more softly as she said, ‘Listen, it’s not a good time right now. Can I call you tomorrow?’
She didn’t ring off straight away, and though Elliot had no way of knowing for certain, he had a horrible feeling she was speaking to Nick van Zant, the foreign correspondent who’d ridden Galahad-like to her rescue after he, Elliot, had walked out to be with another woman.
‘OK, I’ll have to go now,’ she said into the phone, ‘there’s someone else trying to get through. Yes, I promise I’ll call tomorrow.’ She clicked over the line and said, ‘Hello? Oh, hi Murray. Yes, we had a great time thank you. He’s here, I’ll pass you over.’
As she handed him the phone Elliot felt irritated with his office manager now for interrupting him while he was here. ‘This better be good,’ he said shortly.
‘I’ve just had a call from Katie Kiernan,’ Murray told him.
Elliot blinked and instantly mellowed. ‘Katie? How is she?’
‘I was afraid to ask,’ Murray confessed. ‘But she sounded OK. She wants you to call her – tonight if you can.’
‘Any idea what about?’
‘Kind of, but it’s better that she explains. I’ve got her number.’
As he looked round for a pen Laurie passed one over, together with a Post-it pad. ‘OK, shoot,’ he said to Murray.
‘I’ve checked and it’s a Wiltshire number,’ Murray told him after he’d written it down. ‘Just in case you were wondering.’
‘She moved there about a year ago,’ Elliot reminded him. ‘Anything else?’
‘No. That’s it.’
After clicking off the line he said to Laurie, ‘Apparently Katie Kiernan wants me to call and before you ask, Murray didn’t have the guts to enquire how she was.’
‘I’ll bet she encounters a lot of that,’ Laurie responded, ‘people not wanting to mention her condition, and we’re not exactly in a position to criticize, when we’ve hardly been in touch since she gave up her column.’
‘Well we will be now,’ and clicking the line back on he started to dial.
‘Let me say hi first,’ Laurie said, holding out a hand for the phone.
A few moments later someone at the other end said, ‘Hello?’
‘Katie?’ Laurie asked.
‘No. I’ll get her,’ and as the receiver clattered on a surface the same voice yelled, ‘Mum!’
Seconds later Katie was saying, ‘OK, Molly, I’ve got it.’ The extension went down and Katie said, ‘Hello?’
‘Katie. It’s Laurie Forbes. I know you want to speak to …’
‘Laurie! How lovely to hear you. How are you?’
‘I’m great. How are …’
‘I saw your programme on the Indian women. Thank God you saved so many, but what a terrible
tragedy.’
‘Terrible,’ Laurie agreed. ‘But how are you?’
‘Not bad. Actually, I’m fine. Is Elliot with you? I guess he must be if you’re calling, so does this mean you’re back together?’
‘We’ll chat another time about that,’ Laurie replied. ‘I just wanted to find out how you are. I’ll put him on now.’
Elliot took the phone, saying, ‘Katie. I kept thinking my life wasn’t quite complete, and now here you are, the missing piece.’
‘Just like you to call me a piece,’ she responded tartly. ‘Never did have any respect for someone who was madly in love with you.’
‘If I thought that were true I’d ask you to marry me,’ he joked.
‘Yes, well, maybe the less distance we travel down that road right now, the better,’ she retorted in a tone so dry it made him laugh. ‘Anyway, enough of all this persiflage, my sister, Michelle, has received an email from Tom Chambers – you do know him, I take it?’
‘I certainly do.’
‘He wants to be in touch with you, so I’m calling for your email address, which I know Murray could have given me, but I wasn’t about to deprive myself of an opportunity to speak to you.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t,’ he said, frowning. ‘Is there a problem about Tom contacting me direct?’
‘It would seem so. We’re not entirely sure what’s happening over there …’
‘Where?’
‘Pakistan.’
Elliot pulled a face. Of all the countries to be facing a problem in, that had to rate as one of the worst.
‘Everything was taken from his apartment about a week ago,’ Katie continued, ‘so he probably doesn’t have your number any more. The trouble is, we don’t have one for him either. Only an email address. Actually, you need to speak to Michelle, she can fill you in on what she knows.’
Elliot was looking at his watch. ‘Ask her to put it in an email,’ he said. ‘I’ll give it a read, and if need be I’ll come down there tomorrow and talk to her in person.’
After ending the call he dialled his office number, told Murray to use their contacts in Pakistan to start trying to track down Tom Chambers, then handed the phone back to Laurie.
‘So are you going to tell me what that was all about?’ she prompted. ‘Or am I to be kept in suspense?’
After filling her in on the little Katie had told him he said, ‘Why don’t you come with me if I go down there tomorrow? Katie would love to see you, I’m sure, and depending on what this is all about, there could be something in it for you too.’
‘OK,’ she responded. ‘I don’t have much on at the moment, and a day out in the country is always a treat.’
He tapped his glass to hers and got to his feet. ‘If your computer’s on,’ he said, ‘I’ll go and send a couple of emails to the States, see if there’s anything going down about Tom over there, and pick up Michelle’s when it comes through. Then how about some dinner?’
‘Your wish is my command, oh master,’ she responded. ‘I’ll also refresh the drinks and put on some music if that would meet with your desires.’
‘It’ll do for a start,’ he told her, with a look that made her laugh.
As she walked over to the CD player and he went into her study she knew he’d be hoping she’d choose an opera, for it was a signal they often used to let the other know they wanted to make love. However, it wasn’t going to happen tonight, not because she didn’t want to, for it was rare for her not to want to make love with Elliot, but because the call she’d received earlier was from Nick van Zant. The way she’d responded to the sound of his voice had confirmed what she’d suspected while in Bali, that it wasn’t all over between her and Nick yet. In fact, considering how persistent and erotic her thoughts had become about him while she was away, and how unsettled she was feeling now after speaking to him, she was starting to wonder if what she’d believed to be a brief and almost convenient affair while she was trying to come to terms with Elliot’s betrayal had been the start of something much deeper, and maybe more threatening to their relationship even than his affair with Andraya.
Molly was still smarting at the way her mother had made her apologize to Michelle this morning, like Michelle was her mum’s best friend now, when she hadn’t been able to stand her before. Well, see if Molly cared that they were like all interested in something going on in Pakistan now and totally leaving her out. She didn’t want to talk about all their dumb stuff anyway, it was bad enough having to listen to it over breakfast. And no, she didn’t want to go shopping with Michelle later on, thank you very much, she’d probably have a meeting of the Daughters to go to, and even if she didn’t, no way did she want to spend any time with someone who shouldn’t even be in their house anyway.
She was sitting near the back of the chemistry lab, half-slumped across the bench as the teacher blabbed on and on about different kinds of bondings and stuff, like anyone gave a toss. Even when she didn’t have so much else on her mind she found chemistry the most boring subject in the world, because it had nothing to do with anything she’d ever need to know in her life, and who in the whole Universe gave a fuck about ionic or covalent bondings anyway? They were hardly going to help her sort out what she was going to do about meeting someone off the Internet, were they? They weren’t even going to help her get a job one day, because no way was she carrying on with this bloody crap when it came to GCSEs.
Sighing, she changed arms to slump on the other side, and was midway through formulating a plan to fake Step Three when Mr Glover suddenly took off across the lab in a really scary way and snatched something out of Kylie Green’s hands. Kylie’s face turned beetroot, so did Sophie Turner’s who was sitting next to her, but it was nothing to the colour Mr Glover’s turned when he saw what he’d grabbed.
‘Where on earth did this come from?’ he demanded, his whiskery eyebrows going all weird and prickly.
Molly’s insides turned to ice as she realized what it was. Oh my God, she was like in such big trouble now, because it was the picture she’d printed out for Allison, to take over there later. And what she wasn’t going to do to the slag who’d stolen it out of her bag, once she found out who it was. Just don’t say where it came from, Kylie, or I’ll kill you.
‘It belongs to Molly Kiernan, sir,’ Kylie told him.
You are dead, Molly thought furiously.
Mr Glover turned in her direction. ‘Where did you get this, Molly?’ he asked, in a seriously dangerous tone.
‘I – uh, it came in an email, sir,’ she answered, knowing there was no point denying it because the addresses were there at the top.
Folding the picture into quarters he stuffed it into his lab-coat pocket and returned to the front of the class. ‘We’ll continue our lesson now,’ he said, ‘but this will go to the headmaster when we’ve finished, Molly, who I’m sure will want to speak to you himself, and probably to your parents too.’
Not bothering to point out that she only had one, who didn’t even care about her anyway, Molly dropped her head and wished all kinds of evil on Kylie Green and everyone else who was staring at her, including the two retards opposite whose giggling just now had obviously got Glover’s attention.
At the end of the lesson she fled the lab, grabbing Rusty Phillips on the way and dragging him with her. He might be like the most seriously rank boy in the class with his greasy ginger hair, biscuit-sized freckles and metal teeth, but he had a crush on her that was hopefully big enough to help her with Step Three.
By the time they came to a stop on the far side of the sports field she’d filled him on what he had to do, and sinking down on the grass she said, ‘So have you got it? Do you understand everything I said?’
He shrugged. ‘You want me to go on my computer and instant-message you,’ he said, obviously wondering what could be simpler.
‘That’s right. Here are the details, addresses and stuff,’ she said, handing him the notes she’d furtively scribbled in class. ‘I’ve written down what y
ou’ve got to ask me, and what I’ll say back.’
He started to read, his pale skin turning pink under his freckles as he got the gist of what it was about. ‘You’re not supposed to meet anyone from chat rooms,’ he told her.
‘I know that,’ she cried, ‘it’s why I’m asking you to meet me. If you don’t, I’ll have to do it for real, and if I end up getting murdered it’ll be your fault.’
His brown eyes gazed anxiously into hers. ‘But why have you got to do it?’ he asked simply.
‘Because if I don’t I’ll be thrown out of my group, and don’t ask anything about it, because it’s secret and based on the Goddess Oracle, which you won’t know anything about.’
Looking wretched he read over her notes again. ‘So I’ve got to arrange to meet you on the bridge in Chippenham, to go for a walk by the river?’ he said.
‘That’s right. Then later, I want you to instant-message me again to go on about what a fantastic time we had and how we snogged with tongues. I’ve written it all down. Just stick to it, and everything’ll work perfectly.’
‘But why can’t it be for real? You know, I could be like your boyfriend.’
‘That is so never going to happen,’ she retorted haughtily.
He looked back at the notes, his shoulders hunching in defeat.
‘All right, listen,’ she said, realizing this was going to take some extra powers of persuasion, ‘if you do it, I promise to let you snog me. Like really quick, half a second, and definitely no tongues.’
His pallor brightened as his head came up. ‘Snog first, then I’ll do it,’ he said.
Wanting to gag, she said, ‘How do I know I can trust you?’
‘I always keep my word. You know that.’
‘And you won’t tell another living soul?’
‘I swear.’
‘OK. It’s a deal.’ She held out a hand to shake, then realizing he was leaning in for his snog, she shoved him back. ‘Not here, you idiot!’ she hissed. ‘Everyone’ll see. Meet me in the end bower after school, and make sure you file any sharp edges off those braces before you come, I don’t want to end up having stitches.’