She can hear Jay’s bold, infectious laugh outside, followed by Nicole’s. The sound of it makes her stomach turn. She turns to Julian. ‘I know these things sound small, but they all add up, you know? They begin to hurt.’
Julian leans forward, and nods reassuringly. ‘Freya, it’s OK. I believe you. We will fix this together, I promise. I can’t afford to lose you. Unfortunately, I will have to spend a little time gathering my own evidence, but we will hold a discussion between the two of you with myself and HR present.’
‘Thank you. Julian, I really appreciate your support,’ she says, growing bold. ‘And one more thing. She took credit for my work the other day. I think I can prove that—’
‘Now that is a serious accusation,’ Julian says, his expression darkening, ‘but it’s the type of concrete evidence HR would need to file a complaint. Bullying happens to the best of us, Freya. It happened to me. If what you are saying is correct, I am on your side and I will put a stop to this as quickly as I can.’
‘Thank you, Julian, I hope we can fix this soon,’ Freya says, her voice cracking. She bangs her elbow hard on the door as she stumbles out and whispers, ‘Because I think that this is starting to drive me insane.’
Chapter 33
Freya
Two months before the murder
‘Oooh, another dinner date!’ says Hattie. ‘Things must be getting serious!’
Kate shakes her head. ‘I’d still be wary, and watch my back if I were you. The few times he’s come past the house, I’ve just got a funny feeling about him.’
Freya glares at Kate. ‘How so? He has done nothing but greet you sweetly and then left?’
‘I can’t explain it. It’s just something in his eyes, and the resting grimace on his face. As Jasmin would say, I just get “a vibe”.’
Freya is too annoyed to respond. Kate doesn’t understand the powerful connection she and Jay share. Not everyone is as aggressive as she is. She doesn’t need someone adding to the chorus of insecurities in her head. Honestly, her best friend is closer to her, and more infuriating, than a sibling.
‘Go easy on her,’ says Jasmin. ‘Let her get a little excited at least.’ Dear, gentle Jasmin, always on her side.
‘I am excited for her, I just want her to be careful, that’s all.’ Kate pulls a piece of lint off Freya’s white T-shirt. She’d decided on a simple outfit with jeans and vintage red mules today, and some scarlet tassel earrings that she made with the offcuts from a sewing project last year. The outfit is nothing special, but she feels sexy in it. More and more, she wants to show Jay the stripped-down version of herself. With him, she feels bold.
‘Anyway,’ says Kate, ‘you look beautiful. You could totally sell those earrings on Etsy if you had the time.’
They both look up to the sounds of enthusiastic hooting outside. Kate raises an eyebrow. There is no doubt that Jay has arrived.
‘Stop it, I know what you’re thinking!’
Kate smiles politely. ‘I never said a word. Have a wonderful time with your Prince Charming, Freya. May he be everything you hope he is.’
It’s the first time Freya has seen Jay driving his car. Before this date, they have always walked to places after work, or met each other out. She is surprised to see him behind the wheel of a BMW 1 Series. Judging by his style, she had expected him to turn up in a carefully restored MG.
‘Where are we going?’
He kisses her hello, his lips lingering on hers a few delicious seconds before pulling away. ‘It’s a surprise, but I know you’re going to love it.’
After a winding drive through hilly back streets, he pulls up outside a tatty-looking Indian place called ‘The Dosa Hut’. Even though the lights are too bright and they are the only people there, the dosas – thin Indian pancakes – are crisp and delicious, with a warm, spicy filling.
‘This is how I wish I could cook. Seriously, how amazing is this food!’ Jay nods, his mouth too full to respond.
‘Can I tell you a secret?’ she says.
‘Please . . .’
‘I’ve never flown overseas, I haven’t been able to afford to yet. But that doesn’t stop me from obsessively planning international holidays. I imagine the flights I’m going to take, I plot itineraries and even research what restaurants I would go to.’
He looks at her with a level of interest she doesn’t think she has ever received from anyone before. ‘That’s incredible. Weird, but incredible. You need to go traveling. I’m sure Julian will put you on a plane to one of the East African countries we’re rolling out the project in to help with the pilot.’
‘You think?’
‘Yeah, definitely. He thinks so highly of you. So where do you dream of traveling to?’
Freya beams. ‘Well, that’s the thing! The most recent destination I’ve been plotting is Kerala, in the south of India. You can travel down the Alleppey Backwaters in a beautiful, intricately engraved wooden houseboat, stopping at small villages along the way. The local south Indian cuisine is exactly what we’re eating now!’
‘Now I feel like I am a really great date.’ He smiles. The waiter brings over more dishes – a light curry with cumin-spiced rice, and a tray of idli with two small dishes of dipping sauces, one tart coconut and the other masala.
Freya dives in. She doesn’t watch for his reaction when she breaks off pieces of dosa with her hands. ‘Hell, this is good. You’re so lucky – you probably get to eat this all the time.’
‘Why? Because I’m Indian?’
‘Uh—’
He laughs. ‘Don’t look so awkward! I find it hilarious, really. You white people always think whenever I go home my mother serves me curry and sambals in a full sari. I’m actually more of an In-N-Out burger man, myself.’
So his favorite food comes from a chain? She’d thought he was a foodie, someone obsessed with quality, especially after their conversation about fast fashion and big business two weeks before. But his eyes lock on to hers intensely, his hands graze her thighs as they talk. He doesn’t moan about her choice of conversation topic, or say she is being too intellectual, or too complicated. When they leave the restaurant and walk down the street, his hand is wound tightly around her waist.
His glazed expression and giddy grin say it all. He really, really likes her.
Freya’s apartment feels miles away. As they get into the car they kiss passionately. He pulls at the hem of her jeans, moves his hands over her.
‘I can’t take this,’ he says hoarsely. ‘Just come to my place. I’m a few minutes away.’
In his bedroom, he strips each item of clothing off her slowly, running his fingers over her newly exposed flesh. When there is nothing left, he steps back and looks at her for a second, eyes bright.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispers.
His lips graze the nape of her neck, linger at her breasts and settle between her legs. Freya arches her back, moaning, her nails digging into his muscly arms. When she can’t take it anymore, she pushes him back onto the bed and rocks into him, back and forth, until she shudders.
Afterwards, he wraps himself around her, his breath slowing. The silence sticks in the air.
‘What are you thinking about?’
He’s quiet for a while, then says, ‘How hard I am falling for you, Freya, and how good it feels . . .’
She smiles. ‘I’m falling for you too.’
‘I can’t believe a woman like you exists. You’re different, you know that?’ It’s the second time he’s said that. It feels like an important compliment. Tell me how I’m different, she wants to say, tell me how I stand out.
He gets up, and the moonlight catches the silhouette of his strong, lean body. ‘Ah man, I shouldn’t be falling so hard for you. I’m almost ten years older! Look at you, so sweet, so innocent.’
She steps towards him and moves his hand between her legs. ‘I’m not as innocent as you think . . .’
He teases her, his breath turning ragged, heavy, then his phone
rings. His hand darts towards it before Freya can see who it is. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to take this.’
She has to find a way to calm this fire, this sense that everything is about to blow up in her face. Jay is on the balcony, distractedly pulling at the leaves of a succulent as he talks. She pulls a sheet over her naked body and explores the rest of the apartment.
His home is stylish, and expensive, but strangely empty. Where are the old records he has spoken of so fondly? Or his father’s record player? For someone so enthusiastic about cooking, the Le Creuset cookware looks quite untouched. Where are the fresh herbs? Or jars of spices? She finds one box of green tea in the cupboard. She brews it and lets the cup warm her hands.
It’s eerily quiet here, like she is sitting on the set of a TV show. Her eyes scan the living room hopefully, looking for any hint to the enigma she has just slept with for the first time. A bookshelf would be first prize, as his reading taste would tell her everything she needs to know. Finally, her eyes rest on a frame that has been turned down. Freya looks behind her, chest thudding – Jay is still outside.
She creeps towards it, judging herself for being such a snoop. Why can’t she help herself?
‘Way to go, Freya,’ she whispers, ‘it only takes a few months of liking a guy for you to go a bit crazy.’ She shouldn’t get too clingy. Keep it loose. But first, she needs to see who exactly is in the picture.
It’s hard to tell that it’s Jay at first. His hair has been slicked back with every strand in place. He is wearing a perfectly cut suit and the kind of pointed formal shoes that she knows he wouldn’t be caught dead in. They’ve discussed how much they both hate those shoes, for heaven’s sake! But there is something else that unsettles her. There is a coolness to his gaze, a tightly spun confidence fit for the boardroom. Any of the devil-may-care attitude she loves so much about him has been reined in and scrubbed off.
Freya notices his hand on the woman, before the woman herself. There is that same lightness of touch that feels so charged with emotion when it is directed at her. Her eyes travel to the woman’s face. Of course, she shouldn’t be surprised. It’s Nicole. They look perfect together, with their matching dark hair and sharp designer clothing that Freya wouldn’t choose, even if she had the money. They look so comfortable, the path to each other worn-in like expensive denim. She looks so beautiful, with a bright white smile and eyes that laugh off to the left-hand side of the camera. She’s never seen Nicole that happy, not once.
They look like the kind of couple Freya used to admire while working in the restaurant, the kind too busy with their conversation to look at the menu, despite her regular, pointed reminders. Maybe it would feel better if the woman were a stranger. Maybe it would hurt less if Jay hadn’t understated – no, lied – about their relationship. This was no quick fling or drunken night together, this was love.
His hand falls heavily on her shoulder.
‘What are you doing?’
She turns around quick enough to see a flash of rage in his eyes. But then, as soon as it appears, it is gone.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I got bored and was just . . .’
‘Snooping around? Don’t worry, I know what women are like.’ His face is friendly but there is an edge of disappointment to his voice. What an idiot. She shouldn’t have got up and poked around his home! She decides not to ask about the picture. Better to leave the past in the past.
‘Never mind,’ he adds. ‘Let’s not waste time out here when we could be back in bed.’
He grabs her face a little roughly, growls what he wants to do to her next. It’s dark, and a little dirty, the kind of thing she’s found herself furtively watching once or twice in porn clips online. She felt ashamed watching it then, but she wants it now.
As he sinks his teeth into her shoulder, she tugs at his boxer shorts, and her jealousy melts away. Who cares if he dated Nicole? What does it matter if they were serious? Freya is irresistible to him. She gives Jay something that nobody else could give. They move together fluidly and as she touches him she wonders, did Nicole ever do this? Or this? Or touch him like this? She’s smarter, sexier, younger. Just you wait, she thinks, I’m going to make him love me more.
Chapter 34
Isla
Seven days after the murder
‘This was a horrible idea,’ says Isla, tugging at the leather shorts riding up her butt and pulling her red crop top over her exposed midriff. When Isla approached her ex-colleague, Rae, about getting an invite to a sex party, this was not the level of commitment to undercover work that she had in mind.
‘Sit up straight and put your game face on,’ says Rae. ‘You’ll look out of place if you appear too insecure. Remember, the whole point of these parties is that sex is not a big deal. Tech companies have disrupted everything about the way we live, from how we get around to where we stay when we’re on holiday. Now, we’re challenging conventional attitudes to sex as well.’
‘How did you get an invite?’ Isla asks.
‘Let’s just say that the host has a soft spot for girls like me.’ She smiles.
The last time Isla saw Rae, she was a bright-eyed intern with her sights set on political journalism. Now, at barely twenty-seven and a PR manager at a social media platform, Rae seems to be imbibing all the propaganda Silicon Valley has to offer. But who is Isla to judge? Rae is rich, gorgeous and, from the looks of things, completely happy.
‘Thank you for letting me tag along today, and for taking my call after all this time . . .’
‘No problem! I always liked you, and I think your . . . energy . . . will appeal to the guys there. All the cookie cutter models become boring after a while, especially when you see them at every event. Andy will be happy to see I’ve brought someone different.’
Andy Higgs. The inventor of the hashtag and now, the proud owner of several idealistic startups with lofty goals that are difficult to explain. His open relationship with his partner, Sue, has been the subject of several think pieces and a toe-curlingly candid interview in Vanity Fair.
Isla’s breath has shifted into an oppressive pant and anxiety moves in waves of static through her body. Just like when she has her flashbacks. The first time, she was too young to know how sex could turn so coldly to violence. She must be crazy to put herself in this situation today, where men outnumber women, where sex seems free, but is transactional. The dirtier you are, the more liberated you appear, but as a woman, there is always a price to pay. No female is ever completely anonymous.
The smell of sex follows her. Isla should wrench open the door of this Uber and run. But there’s another part of her, battle-worn and muscular, that wants to walk back into the fire that burned her, and fight even harder than before.
The car pulls up outside a sprawling white mansion. Two Balinese cat sculptures frame the open door. Everything is plush cream, from the winding stairway, to the glinting tiled passage that leads them to the outdoor reception area. It is still technically winter, but thanks to an Indian summer’s day, the smattering of guests are dressed in very little.
At first glance, there is nothing sinister about the setup. It feels more like an awkward barbeque held for work colleagues than an orgy. A couple in their fifties pick at a bowl of fruit skewers. A group of young women compare bedazzled manicures. An impatient man with a furrowed brow pounds his MacBook in the corner, a bizarre sight that contrasts his cheerful penguin-printed Bermuda shorts.
‘Are you sure we’re in the right place?’ she whispers to Rae.
‘Shhh . . . give it some time. Want a drink? I spot some frozen rosé.’
‘Yeah, sure.’
Then, she sees it. The stainless-steel champagne bucket next to the swimming pool, overflowing with condoms. A table in the corner, boasting an array of vibrators, lubricants and anal beads tastefully displayed beneath an opulent arrangement of blush-pink peonies. The awkwardness in the air, a mix of social anxiety and expectation. Isla leans against the wall, head spinning. It’s not rig
ht that she is here. Her entire body revolts against it.
A short, bald man in a tight turtleneck and even tighter black jeans walks towards her, a whitened smile plastered on his face. ‘How are you doing? Anything I can do to make you more comfortable?’
He is barefoot, and has the over-buffed sheen of the super wealthy. Isla recognizes him from his pictures in the paper, which appear to have been taken before his latest round of Botox. It’s Andy Higgs.
Isla is too nervous to speak, but she has to be strong and get into character. This is her chance to discover something the police do not yet know.
‘It is my first time here,’ she says carefully. Andy raises an eyebrow and subtly appraises her outfit. ‘In fact, I am quite new to The Bay and I’m looking to connect with some influential people, if you know what I mean.’
He laughs, pulls her in for a hug and her stomach turns. ‘First of all, you need to know that nobody from San Francisco calls it The Bay. But you are in the right place if you want to network. Only the most elite are invited to these soirées.’
She blinks in a way that she hopes looks doe-like, and naïve.
‘Like people from Google?’
‘On your left, next to the toy table,’ he whispers.
‘Tesla?’
‘Let’s just say that those guys are forward thinking about more than just cars.’
Andy leans into her, the stretchy fabric of his jeans rubbing against her legs. She wants to scream, push him into the swimming pool, hold down his head, and run. Instead she smiles. These events are meant to be shrouded in secrecy, so Andy’s pride at his guest list is a startling stroke of luck.
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